Tesoro Placebo
by tykimikkitty
Summary: AU. Lovino Vargas is a clumsy yet skilled hit-man. Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, the "Conquistador", is a ruthless & dangerous capo. When a hit goes wrong, Lovino finds himself rooming with the now amnesiac capo who believes he is only a part-time maid. While a scramble for power begins between mafia families, Lovino finds himself scrambling for his feelings? Spamano & others.
1. Sicario

**My (False) Love**

001: Sicario

hit-man (n., _slang_ ) / a hired killer, especially a professional killer from the underworld

* * *

 _My grandfather once told me that 'fated meetings' are ones that occur unexpectedly, that cause your heart to stop, that you never realize as something other than 'chance' until the very end._

* * *

At dusk it echoes throughout the empty cobblestone streets. It resounds in a muffled manner, rises up into the clouded skies, and is swallowed whole by the heavy air. Then, for a short while there is silence.

Click. Clack.

Gold pellets clatter to the ground as a thin pillar of smoke is dragged up from the barrel of a gun by a sudden updraft in the wind. The barrel is pointed towards a small hole that indents the back of an elderly man's head. As the man slumps to his knees, the barrel - guided by a steady and unshaking hand - is lowered.

Thud.

The elderly man falls forward. His skull cracks against the worn down cobblestone.

There is silence. This time there is silence for a long while.

Noise comes several hours later. The wail of police sirens. The crinkling of yellow tape as it is drawn around the bloody scene. The gossiping whispers of onlookers and policemen alike.

A day later the local newspaper circulates through the neighborhood. Its headline reads — 'Sicario Romano Strikes Again! Believed Camorra Boss Found Dead in Alleyway!'

* * *

 _My grandfather once told me what 'fated meetings' were._

 _If what he said was true, I've probably had enough damned 'fated meetings' to last me ten thousand life-times._

 _Hearts are easy as hell to stop, after all._

* * *

 **[an officer's brief documentation]**

 **The Oenotrus Family** ("people from the vines") | A powerful organized crime family stationed in the heart of Italy. Deals in drug cartel, contract killing, and weapons manufacturing.

 **The Vargas** | A special 'group' within the Oenotrus Famiglia that is viewed as the famiglia's head. Gave birth to the Oenotrus Famiglia. Head unknown after the death of Gaius Vargas.

 **The Castile Family** | A powerful famiglia with Spanish origins that is slowly spreading its reaches across Europe. Deals in weapons manufacturing, human trafficking, murder, arson, illegal gambling.

 **The Sussex Firm** | A mysterious British crime firm. Very little data known. Deals in drug cartel, human trafficking, and weapons manufacturing. Believed to hold rivalry with the Castile Family. Side-note: possible witchcraft relations?

 **The Teutonics** | An old German organized crime group that has lost power in recent years. Now believed to be a simple motorcycle gang. Formerly dealt in drugs manufacturing. Suspected involvement of destruction of public property. Believed to be in league with the Castile Family.

 **Gaul Industries** | A French cosmetic and culinary corporation headed by Francis Bonnefoy. Suspected mafia ties. To investigate.

 **Albion Corp.** | A British multicultural culinary corporation headed by Arthur Kirkland. Rivals Gaul Industries in the market. Suspected British crime firm ties. To investigate.

 **Aragon Inc**. | A Spanish company that manufactures alcoholic products as well as culinary products. Rivals Albion Corp and Gaul Industries in the market. Suspected mafia ties. To investigate.

 **Jones-William's Firm** | A private investigation firm headed by two brothers - Alfred Jones and Matthew Williams. Somehow managed to uncover a series of murder investigations? Perhaps are involved with murders themselves. To investigate.

 **The Pool** | The collective name given to a group of hired-out assassins and contract-killers.

* * *

His name is Lovino Vargas; and one notable quality he finds about himself is that he seems to be good at only one thing. Killing. It's not something that he flaunts boastfully, but it's not something he is particularly ashamed of either. (He has to put food on the table somehow, after all.) Regardless, he's been "praised" ( _Just a bunch of fake bullshit_ ) by several members of his famiglia for it. Not as heavily praised as his brother Feliciano though. Afterall, his brother Feliciano has put aside the family business to attend university. The first to do so in over a decade!

"Was there really a need for that fucking serenade though?" Lovino grumbles to himself.

He tucks the bag of tomatoes he has just bought from the grocers under his arm and shoves his hands into his pockets. It's not particularly cold out but his hands are clammy and gross. That and they smell like gunpowder and metal. Not something he wants the cute girls littering the streets to smell when he flirts with them.

He lifts his head and scans the streets. There. Just by the opening of an alleyway sways a fair maiden who is smiling shyly at him. Curly dark brown hair and bright amber eyes. Kind of his type.

He begins to stride over to her; and he starts to mirror her smile. But then he sees something flash in the alleyway behind her; and he immediately scowls.

The fair maiden's smile drops at the sight. She glances around the street, huffs, and walks off in the opposite direction. Her reaction causes Lovino to blanch and his scowl to deepen tenfold.

Begrudgingly, he trudges over to the alleyway where the woman once stood and slinks into the darkness. There he finds a suit-wearing man waiting for him with crossed arms and a Manila folder hanging loosely in his hands.

Nico Basilio. The famiglia's personal transporter.

"Couldn't you have picked a better time to do this, you bastard?" Lovino hisses. "I can't pick up any girls if you guys keep hovering over me!"

"I-I'm sorry, Mister Romano…" The man stutters as he straightens himself. "I had no idea—"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Lovino brushes him off rudely, before he gives a slight nod towards the folder in hand. "So what is it this time?"

The man hands him the manilla folder.

"See for yourself."

Lovino raises an eyebrow, grimaces in annoyance, and yanks the folder from the man's hands. He flips it open and pulls out the photo and stapled papers within. The stack of papers is thicker than usual, but that oddity is not what captures the hitman's attention. Of all things, it is the photo of his next target that leaves him gaping.

To put it frankly, the soon-to-be-dead man is nothing but gorgeous. In the photo he is dressed in a crisp monochrome tuxedo that seems to be ironed stiff. His curly dark brown hair seems unkempt in contrast. An intense expression graces his unblemished olive face. The intensity of his expression — or so Lovino figures — comes from the man's eyes. They are a shade of green. A shade of poisonous, sickly green.

"His name is Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. He's related to the Galician business as for as we know. People call him 'The Conquistador'."

"Like hell I'm going to remember that shit." Lovino grumbles in turn. He apparently does not convey his disinterest well enough because the suited man continues:

"They call him that 'cause he apparently has taken over — 'conquered' — numerous famiglia's and absorbed them into his own."

"So he's a don then?" Lovino raises an eyebrow, before he scowls. "A Spanish don, huh. I bet the bastard is just a puppet or some guy's bitch."

"Yes, well he arrived in the city just last week. Numerous hits have been placed on his head already, but none have been successful."

Shit. That's not good.

"Well that's cause everyone else sucks ass." Lovino huffs, swallowing the sudden jitters that ricochet through his body and trying to keep his voice even. "I'll get the job done."

* * *

Lovino spends the next three days following his target around at a distance. A long distance. Long enough to not get noticed by the several guards that seem to frequent the man's side, but close enough to see the glimmer of deadly green in the man's eyes. He spends the following three days learning the man's schedule, learning the faces of those the man is acquainted with. Two faces in particular. There is the pretty blond girl with almond-shaped green eyes who seems rather flighty; and then there is the rather terrifying stoic man with straw-blond hair. Lovino keeps in mind to try his best to avoid the latter. He then spends the next five days working up the nerve to actually go through with the hit. On the twelfth day, he moves out.

For an hour after five in the afternoon on Tuesdays, his target sheds his guards and hides away in a small apartment that is several blocks away from Lovino's own apartment. Or so Lovino has noticed. Either way, it allows for a quick escape route.

So on that twelfth day (a Tuesday), Lovino slinks through the dank alleyways behind the apartment. He hops haphazardly across balconies, climbs up rotting iron staircases, and somehow manages to make it to the window leading into the apartment of his target in one piece.

He peers into the window pensively and nearly lets out a high-pitched scream when he finds his target sitting right before him. Sitting right before him on a fancy leather couch and facing the window and… dozing off peacefully.

"Fucking bastard…" Lovino lets out a sigh of relief. Wipes off the beads of sweat that clings thickly to his forehead. Unlatches the lock on the window with his knife. Pulls the window up. Winces as it squeaks in protest.

He reaches over his back and into the leather holster that hangs at his side. Cold steel meets his fingertips. His fingertips wrap around the steel trigger. Bits of leather snag on the grooves of the gun as he attempts to pull it out; but after a grunt and a hefty yank, the weapon is free. It's free, and its mouth is pointed squarely at the sleeping man's face.

And it's such a handsome face — not that Lovino will ever admit that he thinks it is such. With his intense poisonous green eyes hidden behind closed eyelids, the man is rather pleasant and easy to look at it.

"Damn it…" Lovino mutters, lowering his gun slightly. "Damn it, I'll be nice this time and I'll let you keep your face the way it is."

He points the gun at the man's chest — at the man's heart — and pulls the trigger.

At dusk the muffled sound echoes throughout the empty cobblestone streets. It is quickly followed by the nearly inaudible pat pat of shoes against the limestone alleyways of the neighborhood.

Lovino knows the backstreets of the neighborhood like the back of his hand. For that reason, he makes it back to his apartment less than five minutes after he has completed his hit. Relief washes over him immediately when he enters his apartment and slams the door shut behind him.

Peace and quiet.

Relaxation.

Oh god how he could use a nice nap right now. After he takes a nice, long bath that is. He is covered in sweat and dirt (thankfully not blood this time) afterall. Thankfully, the draft coming through the open window at the far end of his apartment is nice and cool.

He pauses.

His eyes widen.

His blood runs cold.

"My, this is quite the nice apartment you've got, el asesino."

A musical voice with a the tiniest hint of an accent.

There is a familiar sound — the cock of a gun. But it is not Lovino's gun. No, Lovino's gun is still holstered at his side. His hand shakily drifts towards it, but—

"I wouldn't try that if I were you."

The voice comes from right behind him; and the presence of the owner of the voice is confirmed as the cold tip of a gun barrel is pressed to the back of Lovino's head.

"L-Listen here, you bastardo!" Lovino stutters as he raises his hands above his head. His legs are shaking uncontrollably, but he keeps his stance firm. "I don't know who y-you think you are but you've got to be biggest dumbass of the dumbasses to try and do whatever the hell you're trying to do."

"Turn around."

Damnit. Damnit. Damn it all. God damn.

"I said turn around."

The barrel of the gun presses further against the back of his head.

"Now."

Lovino swallows. Tells himself that he is turning around only because he wants to turn around. Turns around. Finds himself meeting a poisonous green gaze.

Impossible.

He takes a step backwards and trips over his own two feet. He lands with a painful thud onto the wooden floor behind him. He scoots backwards and his lips quiver-

"G-Ghostt…"

The gun-wielding man pauses. Smirks. Begins to unbutton his shirt.

"W-What the hell are you doing, you perverted bastard?!" Lovino stutters in utter disbelief. He feels his cheeks burn red, feels his eyes begin to water, his head begin to buzz.

"Querido," the ghost of Antonio Fernandez Carriedo drawls in a sickeningly sweet voice as it gestures towards its chest, "it is called a bulletproof vest. If I didn't have one, I would be dead ten times over right now."

The blue nylon material glints in the dull light streaming through the open window as the not-ghost gestures towards it. A gold bullet is nestled in the very corner of the material at an area right above the man's heart.

God damnit!

"Now, querido," the man says slowly, as if he is talking to a mere child, "before I call my men over, I want you to tell me who hired you out. What famiglia you work under."

"L-Like hell I will, you bastard!" Lovino snaps almost on instinct.

The remark causes Antonio's smirk to drop. His green eyes seem to glow with rage in the darkness. And

matched with his unsmiling expression stir terror within Lovino's heart. The terror grows into hysteria as the man reaches down and pulls him up by the scruff of his neck.

"I don't like when I'm disobeyed, poco asesino." Antonio whispers —

— and his breath smells sweet yet nauseating like aged wine.

The dizzying scent sends Lovino's head spinning; and thus he does the only thing that makes sense for him to do in such a dizzying situation. He headbutts the man. The crack that resonates in the air at the moment of contact is unmistakable.

The man lets out a shout, releases the Italian from his grip, and stumbles backwards as he cradles his head. Using the sudden freedom to his advantage but still suffering from the dizzying sensation, Lovino whips out his gun from his holster and blindly fires a bullet in his assailant's general direction.

There is a piercing sound — a sound Lovino knows oh so well — and a pained grunt followed by a loud thud. And then… silence.

Lovino lowers his shaking hands and peers in the direction where the man once stood. Nothing. He glances downwards and his breath hitches as he finds that his target now sits slumped and motionless against the wall.

Pat. Pat.

Lovino draws closer to the man. Squints at him through the thin veil of darkness. Taps the man's leg with his foot.

"O-Oi, bastardo…" He whispers. "Are you still alive?"

No answer. But this time he has to make sure.

Lovino shakily gets down on his knees and crawls towards the man. Observes him carefully. The left side of the man's face is painted with trickles of red; and there is a golden bullet embedded in the wall just a couple centimeters away from the man's head. Alive. The man is still alive. Simply unconscious. The man's steadily rising and falling chest confirms this fact.

"Take that, you cocksucker!" Lovino spits as he rises to his feet and brushes himself off. He raises the gun in his hand and points it at the unconscious man again. This time, it is pointed squarely at his face. "Who's the one being disobeye — I mean… whatever, you bastard! Time to finish thi—"

Rap. Rap. Rap!

The sudden hammering on his door cuts him off short.

His head buzzes with panic, and his heart hammers rapidly, uncontrollably in his chest once more.

"Fratello! Fratello! Open up, Fratello!"

The cheery voice rings in Lovino's ears; and he is left with cold sweat and a sense of relief. Then he looks down at the unconscious and bleeding Spaniard; and once again, panic ricochets through his chest.

Shit. Shit. Shit. There's no way in hell he will drag Feliciano into the family business again.

"Fratello, come on, fratello! It's cold out here! Let me in!"

"God damn it, you idiota! What the hell do you want?!" Lovino growls as he rapidly scans the room for a reasonably place to hide a large body. "I thought you moved into your dorm with that potato bastard already!"

"He forgot some of his things." Comes a deep rumble of a voice.

Shit!

"God damn, you brought the potato bastard too?!" Lovino hisses as he drags furniture, bodies, and carpets around the room. "And you just realized now that you left things here? You moved out two weeks ago! Whatever you left here might as well be mine, dammit!"

"I'm sorry, fratello!" Comes the voice behind the door. "I was just so excited about university that I forgot!"

"Yeah, more like you were so excited to move in with potato bastard." Lovino shouts back. He unwraps his holster and gun from his hip and tosses it into the corner of the room. It lands with a loud clunk as he approaches his apartment door and peers through the eye-hole. Sure enough, just beyond the opposite side of the door stands his idiot brother and his idiot friend. Taking in a deep breath, he reaches for the doorknob, turns it, and gives it a tug. The hall's light floods the room. "Well you better be fast, dammit!"

Before he can even let out another swear, he is smothered by a warm and overly friendly hug.

"I missed you so much, fratello!" Feliciano sings.

"G-Get off of me, dammit!" Lovino hisses as he fights to tear his brother away from him. "Just hurry up and get your things!"

"Okie dokie!" Feliciano nods as he flips on the light-switch. The room is bombarded with blinding light. "I'll be quick!" But after taking several steps forward, he pauses in place. Stares at something — rather, someone — whom he deems foreign within the room.

"What's wrong, Feli?" The Potato Bastard inquires with a raised eyebrow. "You said you'd be quick."

Lovino swallows nervously.

"Say, Fratello," Feliciano blinks as he gestures towards the elongated couch that is tucked away in a corner of the room, "who's that guy buried under all of those blankets and pillows?"

"H-He's my roommate." Lovino says suddenly, quickly. And he almost punches himself in the face right after he says it.

"Roommate?" Feliciano repeats loudly, so loudly that the bodily mass hidden under the bundles stirs ever so slightly.

"Yes, roommate!" Lovino clips angrily. "And he just got piss-ass drunk at a bar and has a fucking terrible hangover and I don't want to hear him complaining in the morning, so hurry up and grab your things and go!"

Feliciano stares at him for a moment, before his face brightens and glows. "I'm so glad you finally found a friend, fratello!"

"He's not my friend, dammit! Now hurry up and grab your things and go!"

* * *

When Lovino finally manages to get his brother and his brother's friend out of his apartment, he is quite certain that the Spaniard has long bled out and died. That is why he is very surprised to find a very alive and breathing (yet still unconscious) Antonio "dozing" away beneath the mountain of blankets. Lovino grimaces at him and walks over to his gun holster and picks it off of the floor.

He has wasted two rather expensive bullets on this man, and yet the man is still alive. Tough bastard. He sends the said bastard a glare. Probably a rich bastard actually. A rich tough bastard.

Lovino pauses at the thought and a haughty smirk begins to play on his face.

Rich. Ransom. Riches.

The three 'R's'.

His family certainly will not be too upset if he lets the man live if he brings billions of dollars home in turn. Not that they even have to know in the first place.

He pauses once more and shivers as he recalls the man's acid green eyes.

1 Tying up the man and making sure he didn't rise for murder time - a key component to the plan.

He pauses for a third time and squints at the blood from the man's head that is staining his couch.

2 Bandaging and stitching the man's head up so he didn't bleed to death isn't too bad of an idea either.

Two hours and several thousand curses later, the Sicaro Romano sits heaving and groaning across the don Carriedo Fernandez. The former is covered in grime and sweat and smells like metal. The latter… Well, the latter isn't off too much better either. However, his face is now clean of the crimson streaks (such a pain in the ass to clean it all off too); and the rather large gash across his temple has been sewn shut (thanks wiki-how). White gauze is wound around his forehead and braided rope around his wrists which are tucked away behind his back.

"You better be grateful." Lovino grimaces at the man.

He is tired, his body aches, and he wants to take a shower. But he doesn't want to take his eyes off of the man. What if the man wakes up and tries to murder him Psycho style in the shower? Yeah, hell no. Not good. Lovino tells himself that he must let the Spaniard know who is above whom in his situation. Tells himself that he isn't an idiota for deciding to do this in the first place. Tells himself many other things as he studies the unconscious man's face. Tells himself all of these things before he unexpectedly drifts off into a deep sleep.

When he finally stirs to some semblance of awakening, it is morning. Faint light streams in through the now closed window (when did he even close it?) across the room. And there is a slight chill in the air that escapes his notice because of two things. One, he is covered in a thick linen blanket. And two, there is a wonderful aroma in the air. Someone is cooking.

He thinks in his dazedness.

He pulls the blanket around his body and saunters sleep-eyed into the kitchen.

Eggs. Unfamiliar spices. And are those potatoes…?

"Feli…?"

His mouth waters as he waves away the smoke that clouds the kitchen. His mouth waters and then it opens up into a gape as he identifies who it is that is working so busily away in the kitchen.

Standing right in front of the sink before him is Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, the don. The don who is calmly chopping peppers and onions with a dangerous-looking knife.

Lovino swallows a shout and takes a step backward effectively knocking a China plate off of the counter he is standing beside. The sharp sound draws the attention of the man; and he stops short of slicing an onion and turns his head. His gaze first falls onto the remnants of the plate on the floor, before it rises up to meet Lovino's own wavering gaze.

His eyes, a dark shade of brilliant emerald, prod at him curiously before they brighten.

"Ay, you're quite clumsy, aren't you?" Antonio asks brightly with a smile that seems to light up the room almost instantly. It is such a blinding smile that Lovino finds himself stumbling backwards and shouting nonsensically.

"W-what the hell do you think you're doing, you bastardo?!" He shouts furiously, panickedly. "I don't know what you think you're doing but my guys are right outside of my apartment so if you even think of doing anything remotely funny, you're fucking dead, you hear?"

Antonio blinks at him, and his smile falters for a moment. Just a moment.

"Sorry, I don't really understand what you're trying to tell me." He responds as he scratches the back of his curly head. His gaze drifts towards the potpourri of ingredients behind him, before it brightens with some sort of 'realization'. "Ah, I see! You must be allergic to potatoes or something, si?"

Lovino shakes his head incredulously.

"What the actual fuck are you talking about?"

"You see, I was trying to make something nice for you for breakfast." The don Antonio Fernandez Carriedo explains. "Since you're my new roommate and all."

Lovino blinks. His heart nearly stops beating in his chest.

"What…?"

"Ay, by the way. You wouldn't happen to know my name would you?" The man asks, looking puzzled instead of happy for the first time that morning. He tentatively prods at the bandage wrapped around his head, before he smiles. Again. "I can't really remember it… or much of anything else really."

"What…?"

* * *

 _My grandfather_ _once told me that 'fated meetings' are ones that occur unexpectedly, that cause your heart to stop, that you never realize as something other than 'chance' until the very end_ —

— _but what kind of utter bullshit is this?!_

* * *

sicario [Spanish]

hit-man (noun, _slang_ ) / a very, very confused, disturbed, and screwed Italian

* * *

 **A/N** : I've been dragged back into the Hetalia fandom again; and I'm in Spamano hell. Save me.

Review? o u o


	2. Capo

**My (False) Love**

002: Capo

boss (n.) / an employer or supervisor, one who makes decisions or exercises authority

* * *

Day 1

The man awakens in a rosy, cold world. He shivers and squints in the brightness of it all. The coldness of the wooden floor beneath him presses up against his cheek. And he shivers once more — this time, into full consciousness.

The first thing he sees after his eyes adjust to the light is a young man. A young man who sits on the floor across from with his back pressed up against the wall. A young man who is covered in dirt, and grime, and sweat. A young man who is sleeping rather serenely and peacefully.

The man straightens himself into a sitting position so that he can observe the young man more closely. He has delicate features — almost feminine. Long brown eyelashes sprout evenly from gentle olive eyelids. Peachy lips pucker ever so slightly from just beneath them. And…

The man's gaze rises from the sleeping man's face to his upper head. Brown hair that seems slightly frazzled. A stressful day maybe? Probably. But even with all the frazzledness of the man's hair, there is a single strand that appears to be more frazzled than the rest. It branches out away from a part in the man's hairline and curls upwards towards the sky.

The man blinks at it with curiosity.

Ay, yes. It's too tempting. He needs to touch it. To pull on it. It's literally calling for him.

He begins to raise his hand upwards to pull on the thing when something strange suddenly occurs to him: he cannot raise his hand enough to touch the thing. But… why?

He cranes his neck and peers over his shoulder to try and spot the anomaly. Sure enough, he spies a twisted rope tied (rather haphazardly and loosely) around his wrists. Now, how did that happen? Shrugging half-heartedly to himself and pushing the thought to the back of his mind, he pulls once on the bindings and easily slides them off of his hands.

He then returns his attention to the sleeping man. Does he even known this sleeping man? The question occurs to him suddenly and abruptly. And it causes him to study the young man's face once more. (The young man can't be any older than twenty — there are still traces of slight baby fat lining his cheeks. It's rather endearing actually, the observing man thinks.) After observing this young man's face for quite a long time, the man comes to a stunning conclusion: he does not know this sleeping man.

Suddenly, however, his temple is struck with searing pain and a ringing scream screeches in his ear. The pain is so intense that he finds himself doubling over and cradling the left side of his head, his head which appears to be wrapped in thick white gauze. Suddenly and abruptly, two voices suddenly intermingle with the ringing cacophony like a distant echo—

"H-He's my roommate!"

"Roommate..?"

Roommate…?

As the aching in his temple dulls, the man lowers his hand and studies the sleeping man once more.

Roommate, huh?

He supposes that makes sense… right? Ah well, it is too troublesome to think of any other possibilities.

Now, that hair curl.

He begins to reach for the thing once more, when a voice suddenly shouts at the back of his mind—

Wait. No. Stop. You don't even know this man.

So?

So, he might be dangerous.

He doesn't seem dangerous. He's too cute to be dangerous. Look, he still has baby fat on his face.

Think about your situation. Doesn't it seem weird, peculiar?

The man pauses at the thought. Racks his brain for answers. Is it really that peculiar? Waking up in a place he does not recognize? With a man he does recognize? How did he get into such a situation in the first place?

He freezes as realization dawns on him. He does not recall how he has found himself in such a situation, nor does he recall much of anything else.

Who am I?

What is my name?

What's my favorite food?

What time is it? What day is it?

All unanswerable questions.

Weird.

He raises his hand upwards and traces his fingertips along the gauze wrapped around his head. He taps his temple and winces as a slight stinging pain arises from the area of contact.

Very weird.

A sudden shuddering sound draws the man's attention away from the sleeping man whom he now deems 'Señor Rizo' (mister curl). Rizo is visibly shivering in the cold morning air, just as the amnesiac man himself is shivering. The man glances around the room and spies a rather thick linen blanket lying a ways off on the floor. He moves to pick it up and returns to where Rizo lays. In a quick and fluid movement, he wraps the blanket around Rizo's form. As he does so, his attention is once again caught by the stray curl rising from the dozing man's head. He begins to reach for it once more, when a sudden sound stops him short. It is a mewling, grumbling sound that comes from Rizo himself. Rizo's stomach that is.

Hunger.

The amnesiac man bites his lower lip and then throws his head back in laughter. Rizo really is a kid. An adorable kid.

Hopping to his feet, the man places his hands on his hips and scans the room. And then a brilliant idea strikes his mind like thunder. He will cook a gigantic breakfast for his new roommate! A wonderful idea!

His eyes suddenly spy the open window, and he shivers as a strong gust of wind billows in. Well, first things first. He strides over to the window and clamps it shut, before he goes on his search for the kitchen.

It is half an hour later that he finds himself face-to-face with a rather red-faced Señor Rizo.

…

Lovino Vargas, Fratello, Sicaro Romano. He has many names, but not once has he ever been called—

"Am I not your roommate then, Señor Rizo?"

His hostage-hit-richman-capo-amnesiac-captive asks such an innocent question as he holds his hands above his head. He is smiling brightly, albeit a little bit nervously.

This can't be happening. This can't be happening. Wait… What the the actual fuck is even happening?

"Fuck no, you're not my roommate!" Lovino draws incredulously, cocking the gun in his hand. "And what the hell is a 'Señor Rizo'?!"

The two confused individuals stand at the center of the Italian's apartment's living room. There is a linen blanket discarded on the floor of the room. Antonio stands several feet away from it with his back facing Lovino. Quite the role reversal from the previous night.

"Oh, I don't really know your name either." Antonio explains as he turns his head slightly. "And I thought 'Señor Rizo' fit you because you have that little curl coming out of your head." He makes a swirling motion with his his fingertip. "Oh by the way, what's your real name? And do you know mine? How did I get here? I mean, if I'm not your roommate…?"

"Do you think I'm buying that bullshit?" Lovino scoffs, tightening his grip on the gun. He pauses, before he scowls. "And shut up about the curl, you bastardo!"

"You shouldn't swear so much." Antonio says suddenly. "It's bad for your health." Lovino watches with a twitching eyebrow as the man's face suddenly lights up. "Oh! Maybe that's why your face is so red right now! All that swearing must have made you sick!"

Lovino's already red face turns a shade redder.

"W-What the hell are you talking about?!" He growls as he jabs his gun wildly in the air. "Pay attention to your situation, you bastard!"

"Si… but I really don't understand my situation."

Lovino can literally hear the frown in the man's voice.

"By the way, Señor Rizo—"

"Don't call me that!"

"Is that a real gun?"

There is a beat of silence.

"Of course it's a real gun, you idiota! Why else would you be holding your hands above your head?!" Lovino growls incredulously.

"I guess that makes sense…" Antonio laughs lightly, causing Lovino to shake his head in disbelief.

"Shut up and turn around!" Lovino orders the man brusquely, affirmatively. He shakes his head again. There is no way in hell that 'Conquistador' Antonio Fernandez Carriedo is actually an amnesiac.

Antonio obeys and turns on his heels with his hands still raised above his head. Lovino studies him carefully, hesitantly, while wearing a thick scowl. The man blinks back at him with furrowed eyebrows yet with a strange semblance of a smile.

The man standing before him is a far cry from the man Lovino had encountered the previous night. Very different from the man he had been stalking for nearly two weeks. It's almost disturbing. He looks the same as before, but at the same time he looks completely different. For one, the man's stiff dark blazer is no longer adorning him; rather, it has been tossed carelessly into the corner of the room. The man's bulletproof vest lies there as well. The extra space left behind after its removal makes the man's white blouse look baggy and unkempt. The blouse itself is stained with onion and cilantro bits. The bandage wrapped around his head even looks whiter than the stained shirt. But those are not the most striking differences Lovino finds in the man. It's the way he holds himself. That and the man's eyes.

Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, despite his evidently precarious situation, stands with a slight slouch in his stance. The slouch radiates easygoingness and carefreeness which is irritating in itself to Lovino given the situation, but… The man's eyes smother such irritation instantly. His irises are green, but they are not the poisonous green that Lovino remembers. They are bright, curious, radiant. Hell, they even seem to twinkle a bit in the light.

Shit.

"My hands are getting kind of tired." Antonio says suddenly, almost apologetically, with his smile still in place. "Señor Rizo—"

"I said don't call me that, you bastard!" Lovino hisses, before he scowls deeply. "And stop smiling, dammit!"

Antonio's eyebrows furrow deeply, and then the edges of his lips twitch downwards ever so slightly. But they twitch up again not a second later.

"I-I don't think I can…" Antonio laughs a nervous laugh. It is a crystal clear laugh. Almost musical. "At least not right now. I don't even know why I'm smiling."

"Stop doing that, you weirdo." Lovino grumbles. "You look like you're constipated or something."

Antonio ceases his struggle to stop smiling; and his face brightens. He looks better this way, Lovino finds himself thinking strangely, suddenly. But he brushes such strange thoughts to the very back of his mind. How can he be thinking like that in this kind of situation?

"Are you telling me you really don't remember anything? And you better not be lying to me! I'll shoot you, if you do!"

"I honestly don't remember a thing." Antonio concedes; and his smile falters slightly. "I just remember something… about being somebody's roommate." He moves to scratch the back of his head but pauses as Lovino raises his gun. "I guess I just made that part up in my head though."

Lovino stares at him. Really looks at him.

"So you don't recognize me?" Lovino drawls with narrowed eyes. "And you don't remember anything about yourself?"

Antonio simply shakes his head in response.

"And the words 'asesino', 'sicario', 'conquistador', 'famiglia'" — Lovino says these words slowly, carefully and observes how each syllable effects the man (none of them do) — "they don't mean anything to you?"

Antonio tilts his head and answers the question with a question: "Should they?"

Unbelievable. Occurrences that he thought only occurred in movies and TV shows are unfolding before him his eyes.

"No." Lovino snaps before he can help himself.

Shit. He doesn't really know what to do next. And he is confused and his head is swimming. And the way the amnesiac Spaniard is gazing at him curiously doesn't help at all. And how the hell did he mess up so badly? How the hell did he manage to fuck up the one thing he was good at? How the hell did he manage to turn an apparent mafia mastermind into this… this—

"Hey, are you okay? You don't look too good, Rico."

"Stop calling me that, you bastard." Lovino grumbles, lowering his weapon and angrily scratching his head and digging his fingers into his scalp. "That's not my name."

"What's your name then?"

It is a curious, innocent question asked in such a curious, innocent way. Lovino cannot believe that the man who had tried to murder him the previous night has asked such a thing.

"It's not of your business, dammit." Lovino growls.

"But then I don't know what to call you..." Antonio replies as he lowers his hands. "Other than Rico—"

"Just call me Romano, dammit!" Lovino shouts without thinking again; and he nearly punches himself for it.

"Alright, Roma." The amnesiac man responds cheerfully. "That's a very cute name!"

Lovino blanches.

"Don't call me Roma!"

"Ah… how about Roman then? Or Ro?"

"Hell no!"

"Then… Just Romano?"

"Just Romano!"

"But Roma is such a cu—"

"I said no, dammit!"

Lovino huffs angrily and wipes his face with his free hand. He feels sick, tired, and… And there is a bubbling sense of panic that is steadily rising in his chest. How the hell is he supposed to hold this former capo for ransom? Lovino knows deep inside that if the former 'Conquistador's' famiglia ever finds out that he has somehow managed to turn their leader into a constantly smiling buffoon, they will have his head. The only reasonable solution to this problem is to carry out his hit. Correctly, this time. Yes, that certainly is the only reasonable solution, but…

"So…" Antonio drawls as he rubs the back of his neck and grins (again). "Now that we've got that cleared up… Although I'm not really sure what we've got cleared up exactly… Could you tell me what my name is…?"

The man's smile is so bright; and his eyes glisten like… like — goddammit, Lovino doesn't even know how to describe it. They just glisten and twinkle. And Lovino is pretty sure that if he lifts his gun up and pulls the trigger at the man he will feel like he has murdered a child. And although he has killed a lot of crotchety old men, he has never ever killed a child before.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

"Toni." Lovino finds himself saying suddenly; and he once again nearly punches himself in the face. "Your name is Toni."

"Toni?" The man tries out the name on his tongue with a rare frown.

Lovino wonders briefly if Antonio can somehow see through the lie. Well, it's not a lie persay. The name is close to the man's real one.

"Toni." Toni breaks out into a grin that is now very familiar to the Italian. "That sounds right!"

Does it really?

"Of course it does, you idiota. It's your name." Lovino huffs the lie out steadily. The gun now feels awkwardly heavy in his hands.

"Do you know what happened to me?" Toni questions as he runs his olive fingers along the bandages wrapped around his head. "I don't remember hitting my head or anything like that…"

Shit.

"Yeah, well you…" Lovino stutters and stumbles over his words and points an accusatory finger at the Spaniard. "Y-You came into my apartment acting drunk and acting crazy so I hit you in the head. Didn't know that you'd get amnesia or whatever. It's not my fault. And I thought you were going crazy again, so I got this," he wields the gun dangerously in the air, before lowering it once more, "out so don't try anything funny, you hear?"

Well, it isn't exactly a lie.

"Que?" Toni questions in surprise and horror as he takes a step forward (He appears completely unperturbed by the gun). "I did? I'm so sorry!"

Lovino cannot believe how gullible this man is.

"H-Hey, don't take a step closer, dammit." Lovino scowls as he notices that the man is now only a couple feet away from him. The Italian does not move to perk up his weapon, however.

Toni pauses, shouts another apology, reaches for Lovino almost apologetically, and pauses again. Smiles a hesitant smile.

"F-Forget it." Lovino brushes him off. "You got what you deserved, so whatever happened doesn't matter anymore."

Of course it does, dammit.

"Ay, alright." Toni shrugs nonchalantly, before he blinks and tilts his head. "Wait… does that mean that I am your roommate then?"

Lovino gawks at the man. Wonders how a person can be so air-headed. And then he recalls the previous night. He recalls the man's cruel smirk, recalls the man's grip on his shirt, recalls how the man had said 'he didn't like being disobeyed'; and then, as always, Lovino's emotions speak before his mind does—

"Yeah, you're my roommate, you idiota, but you were a jerk and didn't pay your half of the bills so now you're working as my part-time maid to make up for it!"

Lovino can't believe the words that have just escaped from his mouth.

"I-I did?" Toni stutters and his smile falters again.

Lovino can't believe that Antonio believes the words that have just escaped from his mouth.

"Dios mio. It sounds like I wasn't too good of a person before you hit my head, huh?" Toni questions in an almost pouting manner.

"Yeah, you were a real jerk." Lovino finds himself saying even though he only has a slight idea of what the man was like before this incident. Internally, he is repeatedly shouting 'what the hell' over and over again. An endless mantra.

"Well," Toni drawls as he places his hands on his hips (and for a moment, Lovino swears that the man literally sparkles in the sunlight), "I guess this is a good opportunity as any to turn myself around, si?"

His easygoingness astounds Lovino… He briefly wonders whether or not the man was like this before the bullet incident. Probably not.

Putting that aside, Lovino wonders what the hell he's supposed to do next. He has somehow convinced an notorious capo that he is nothing more than a roommate and a maid—

—so what now?

Antonio's underlings are sure to come searching for him after they discover his disappearance. And Lovino's own famiglia will question why the body of his hit has not turned up.

His mind turns back to the gun in his hands, but any thoughts regarding the subject as he lays eyes on Antonio's irritatingly sunny smile.

"Well," Toni pipes suddenly, "the breakfast is getting cold and since we've gotten a lot of things cleared up, we should eat, si? Plus, I'm pretty hungry myself. I can't remember when the last time I ate was."

"What the… How the hell can you be thinking about food in this situation?"

"Well, there's no use worrying over something that can't be fixed." Toni waves him off with another laugh. "But hunger… Now we can fix that problem right now." He pauses before he gestures vaguely towards Lovino. "Besides, one of the reasons I started cooking is because I heard your tummy growl. And boy, did it growl loudly! You must be starving right now!"

Lovino feels his face burn a bright red.

"Ay," Toni laughs, "look your face is getting all red again! I told you swearing is bad for your health!"

"Wha…?" Lovino shakes his head in disbelief, before he feels his his face burn with even more intensity. "S-shut up!" And before he realizes what he is doing, he has thrown his gun at the man's face.

There is a loud thwack! as the object hits its mark. It is followed by a clack! clack! as the object clatters to the ground not too soon afterwards. Lovino and Toni stare at the object for several moments. The former stares at with panic and disbelief while the latter blinks at it in confusion. But then—

"Ow, what did you do that for?" Antonio frowns slightly as he rubs his now reddened cheek. His smile returns shortly afterwards, however; and he steps over the weapon casually and brusquely. A moment later he is standing right in front of the Italian, and the latter recoils in response. The Spaniard doesn't seem to notice the recoil and grabs the Italian's wrist.

"What?" — it's a word that Lovino finds himself saying a lot today — "What the hell are you doing?! Let go of me, you bastard!"

A minute and several thrown punches later Lovino finds himself sitting at his dining room table with what looks like a potato-stuffed omelet sitting in front of him and a smiling capo across from him. The man is digging into his own omelet greedily and rather ungracefully. Lovino watches him with a twitching eyebrow.

This is ridiculous. Utterly and stupendously fucking ridiculous. He's eating breakfast with a man whom he had tried to assassinate the previous night — a man whom had tried to assassinate him in turn. Even his wildest and craziest nightmares cannot compete with his situation.

"If you don't eat now, it's going to get cold." Antonio — now, believing himself to be 'Toni' — says suddenly as he points his fork in the Italian's direction. "Plus, you want to grow out of your baby fat, don't you?"

"Wha…?" Lovino recoils, suppressing the urge to self consciously rub his cheeks. "What the hell is a matter with you?"

"Que? I just want you to try the omelet." Antonio responds a little bit too innocently. His eyebrows furrow ever so slightly, but that damned smile still remains plastered on his face. He then proceeds to stare at Lovino; and his gaze shifts from the Italian to the omelet at five second intervals. His expression is an encouraging one — it's as if he is rooting for the omelet to be eaten by the Italian like it is some sort of sports event. The attention the man is giving Lovino is almost smothering.

"What?" Lovino averts his gaze and jabs at the omelet before him with a fork. He squints at it's yellow fluffiness suspiciously. "Did you poison it or something?"

"No…" Antonio frowns slightly again. "Why would I do that?" He points to the omelet with his fork again. "I just want to make up for being a crappy roommate, Roma."

This is too fucking surreal.

"It's Romano to you, you lousy jerk." Lovino snaps as he holds his fork in a threatening manner.

The threat flies over the Spanish man's head, however; and he quickly assumes that the Italian's sudden iron grip on the fork signals his eagerness to eat. His expression brightens. It's blinding. Lovino averts his eyes at the brightness, before he aggressively stabs the omelet with his fork and shoves a piece of it into his mouth.

"How is it?!"

It's — to put it simply — one of the best things Lovino has ever tasted. The texture is soft and fluffy and the egg literally melts in his mouth. The strange spices intermingled in the egg cause his tongue to tingle. And the potatoes mashed within it give it a tangy quality.

To put it simply, the omelet is almost as good as the ones his brother Feliciano makes. Almost.

And it doesn't appear to be poisoned either. But—

"It's too fucking salty."

— is all Lovino says.

Later that morning the local newspaper rolls in. It's headline reads —

'Mystery! Visiting Spanish Businessman Vanishes from his Vacation Apartment!"

Sicario Romano receives a call from a panicked phone call from the transporter Nico Basilio not soon afterwards.

* * *

capo [Italian]

boss (noun) / a smiling Spaniard who doesn't seem to have a care in the world

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks to all those who followed, favorited, and reviewed! The next couple of chapters will be a bit for fast paced!


	3. Pomodoro

**My (False) Love**

003: Pomodoro

tomato (n.) / any of several plants belonging to the genus Lycopersicon, of the nightshade family, native to Mexico and Central and South America, especially the widely cultivated species L. lycopersicum, bearing a mildly acid, pulpy, usually red fruit eaten raw or cooked as a vegetable

* * *

 _[Lovino_ _ **supposed**_ _that it happened some time during the first week. Yes, some time during that first week Lovino began to…]_

* * *

"Stop yelling and crying already, dammit!"

Lovino Vargas paces his bedroom with his cellphone gripped tightly in his right hand. His grip on the thing is so tight that the glass screen of the device nearly cracks under the pressure. And even though he is the one ordering the man on the opposite end of the phone to stop "yelling and crying", he himself is doing both.

"I-I'm sorry, Mister Romano, but the second boss saw the headline and he isn't happy!" — whimpers the man, Nico, on the opposite end of the phone.

"Well, I did my damn job!" Lovino curses back at him. "I carried out the hit yesterday! That bastard is dead! Shot him square in the head!" He is trying to convince both Nico and himself that he has done these things. That he has successfully assassinated Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. That he has not accidently spared the man. That he has not given the man amnesia. That he has not convinced the man that he is a mere part-time maid.

"But they reported him missing!"

"And how is that my fault?" Lovino growls in feigned exasperation. "Didn't you stop to think that maybe that guy's famiglia reported him missing on purpose? Those bastards are probably trying to start something!"

There is silence.

Lovino starts sweating bullets.

"Mm… Maybe you're right…"

"Of course I'm right!" The Italian snaps, swallowing a sigh of relief.

"Well… I'll consult with the boss. I'll call you back lat—"

Lovino ends the call before the man finishes. Swallowing a loud shout, he chucks the device onto his unkempt bed and storms towards his bedroom door. He pauses there, hand hesitantly raised in the direction of the doorknob. He sighs. Wraps his fingertips around the brass metal. Turns and pushes. Enters the living room.

He finds the don turned amnesiac sitting peacefully on the same couch he had bled out on the previous night. The man is staring dissonantly out the closed window with a faint smile — always smiling, dammit. His curly dark head perks up as he hears Lovino enter the room, and his smile brightens. His eyes, however, appear almost concerned.

"That sounded like a pretty serious phone call, Roma."

"None of your business." Lovino retorts as he studies the man pensively, as he ever so slowly walks forward. "And I told you to stop calling me 'Roma', you ass."

'It's all this man's fault. Antonio is the reason for his terrible predicament'.

— Lovino thinks such thoughts as he sinks into the small chair that is fixated adjacently several feet away from the Spaniard. His eyes narrow and his eyebrows furrow as he glares at the man. The man, in turn, cocks his head ever so slightly. They stay like that for what seems like hours; but then—

— suddenly and abruptly the Spaniard leans forward and reaches across the space in between them. He reaches across the space in between them and, with a slender finger, presses down the small bump where Lovnio's furrowed eyebrows meet.

Lovino blinks in confusion, and his eyebrows unfurrow.

"You'll get wrinkles if you look so serious all the time!"

The statement is said in such a cheery tone that for a moment it causes Lovino to stop thinking altogether. Then, after several long minutes, he becomes aware of how close Toni is, of how hot the man's fingertip against his forehead is, of how bright the man's eyes are; and he starts thinking again. He thinks that the man is too close to him. He thinks that the man is _way_ too close to him. So, he once against enacts a reasonable action:

Swearing loudly (something along the lines of 'what the hell is a matter of with you?!), Lovino shoots back in his chair. Balance is lost. The chair wobbles beneath him, and the beige ceiling goes flying above his head. His feet kick up in the air where they _crack!_ against something solid. And then he is on the ground.

He groans.

A shadow passes over him.

"Dios mio!"

An olive face eclipses him. And the first thing he notices about this face is that it is no longer smiling.

"Are you alright, Roma?"

The next thing he notices about this face is that it once again is too close.

"G-Get away from me!" Lovino scowls as he scrambles to his knees.

"Are you hurt, Roma?"

Antonio asks the question as he kneels only inches away from the Italian's shaking form. Asks the question as he peers into the Italian's face. Asks the question as blood begins dribbling from his nose.

"Am I—Look at yourself!" Lovino blanches.

There is a look of confusion in the man's eyes. The confusion soon turns into realization; and the man quickly cups his nose with his hands. Recoiling, Lovino scrambles into the kitchen, whips a towel off of its hanging spot over the faucet of the sink, darts back into the living room, and tosses the thing at the man.

"G-Gracias!" Comes Antonio's muffled reply as he holds the towel to his face.

Panting, Lovino stares at him. Antonio stares back.

There is silence.

"Ay, you have a very strong kick, you know?"

The Italian can literally hear the smile on the man's covered face. He's smiling at the person who has kicked him so hard that his nose is bleeding. At the person who has caused him to lose years worth of precious memories in the blink of an eye. At the person who has tried to kill him — not that he remembers, but still. Lovino can't understand it. How can this man be 'the Conquistador'? All Lovino can do is scowl in turn. He's had enough of this for today.

"I'm going to take a bath!"

— he shouts the phrase in a defiant tone. Antonio looks confused for some reason; and then, of course, his face brightens.

"Oh, good idea!" The Spaniard nods as he hops onto his feet.

Lovino does a double-take.

"Cosa?" Lovino shakes his head incredulously. "Not with you, you creep! What's _wrong_ with you? I'm not like my brother!"

"You have a brother, Roma?"

The man's interest is obviously piqued (he doesn't seem to heed the Italian's insults at all); and his expression brightens — even more so, which Lovino finds astounding. But internally Lovino curses himself for letting such an important piece of information slip out of his tongue.

"It's none of your business!" Lovino snaps as he storms towards the bathroom door. "And stop calling me 'Roma'!"

There is a pause of silence which causes Lovino to frown and turn on his heels. What he finds him startles him. He has seen Antonio Fernandez Carriedo looking furious; he has seen Toni smiling without a care in the world; but never has he seen the Spaniard looking so… confused and lost.

"What am I supposed to do?"

For some reason, Lovino's voice becomes caught in his throat. And then he remembers how serious his predicament is, how ridiculous his situation is, how oblivious the Spaniard is to it all.

"Do whatever you want." The Italian scoffs as he enters the bathroom and begins to close the door behind him; he pauses for a moment with narrowed eyes. "Just don't leave the apartment. You'll probably trip or do something stupid and crack your head open again."

He closes the door before he hears a response.

…

When Lovino (fully dressed, mind you) exits the steaming bathroom an hour later feeling more or less content, he finds himself on the verge of getting another headache. He finds himself gawking — for the fifth time that day — at Antonio Carriedo Fernandez. The Spanish man is vacuuming the floor of — Lovino wonders for a very brief moment how in the world the man had managed to find the device — the living room while humming an upbeat tune. But that is not the sight that distresses the Italian. What distresses the Italian is the sight of the Spaniard himself — rather, the sight of what the Spaniard is wearing. Over his loose and baggy blouse, the tall, well-toned man is wearing a—

— frilly, pink, and noticeably too small house apron.

"Why the hell are you wearing my brother's apron?!" Lovino recoils.

"Hm?"

The Spanish man shuts the vacuum off and turns to look at the Italian.

"Did you say something, Roma?"

"Why the fuck are you wearing my brother's apron?!" Lovino shouts.

"Que? It's your brother's?" Antonio blinks. "I thought it was yours, so I figured it was okay if I borrowed it."

"What?" Lovino recoils again. "Why the hell would I wear something like that?!"

"Because it's cute." Antonio laughs. "Does there need to be any other reason?"

Lovino scowls intensely, unable to respond to the man any other way. He scowls and scowls; and he can feel his face burning — burning a bright shade of red. Antonio notices.

"Haha, Roma," Antonio chuckles, "your face is so red right now, like a…" He pauses suddenly, his eyebrows furrowing. "Like a…"

"Shut up, you bastardo!" Lovino interrupts him before the man can find the word to describe the redness. "You have no tact, y'know that?"

"Ay, you're embarrassed, huh?" Antonio nods firmly, the insult evidently flying over his head. His question earns yet another recoil from the Italian. "You have a cute side after all!"

'Cute'? Has he just been been called 'cute' by the man who had tried to murder him the previous night? The said man's smiling expression answers the hit-man's question.

"Wha—What is the matter with you?!" Lovino half stuters, half shouts. He ruffles his dripping hair and scowls more intensely, before he begins to storm off towards his bedroom. "Forget it, you idiota! I'm going to make an important phone call, so you better not interrupt me, y'hear?"

"Si," Antonio salutes him cheerily, "I'll try my best to clean quietly!"

The man is so cheerful that it's painful. Lovino has a hard time scowling back at him in response.

…

It certainly is an important phone call that Lovino makes when he locks himself inside his room. It is a phone call that he believes will help him get a better grip on his absolutely insane situation. It is a phone call to a man whom he almost considers his friend. It is a phone call to a man named—

"Hello? Kiku Honda speaking," comes the voice from the other end of Lovino's phone following several monotone rings.

"Hey, Kiku," Lovino grumbles in turn as he paces his room.

"Oh, hello, Lovino. It is rare to hear a call from you." The man on the other end responds in his deep and mellow voice. "Would you like to speak to Feliciano? I think he and Ludwig will be back at the dorms in about half an hour—"

"No, I don't wanna speak to him!" Lovino waves the proposal off. "I just saw him like a couple of hours ago."

"So you wish to speak to me then?"

"Yeah, well, I've got a couple questions about a certain subject that I thought you'd know about or something."

"Ah, well, I shall try my best to help."

"Okay, say that you somehow accidently shoot a guy sort of in the head — I mean, the bullet you shot grazed him, and… I'm just saying this as a 'what if', alright? So what if you shot him and he passed out or whatever; and when he woke up, he had amnesia or something? Is it permanent…?"

There is a pause on the other end of the line. Straining his ears, Lovino can hear the sound of faint tapping in the background. For a moment, he ponders the sound.

"Around eighty percent of amnesia patients recover their memory." Kiku finally responds. "Although, that means that twenty percent end up not recovering their memories either. It depends on the case and the person."

Lovino isn't sure what to feel when he hears the man read off the statistics.

 _Will Antonio regain his memories? And what am I supposed to do if he does? I guess I could kill him then… but what if he doesn't? What the hell am I supposed to do then?_ — such thoughts filter into the man's mind.

"O-Okay…" He mutters, keeping his voice as even as possible; a thought suddenly occurs to him. "What about personality changes? Does that happen a lot with amnesia?"

This time Kiku responds right away:

"Well, I suppose since memories are often the basis for personality, a loss in memories would result in a 'loss' of personality as well — now, I am just giving you my theory, not concrete fact."

"That makes sense, I guess…" Lovino grumbles, ruffling his hair and then rubbing his eyes. "Damn you know a lot of stuff. I guess you're actually learning stuff in college, unlike my brother…"

"Ah, well," Kiku murmurs, "I actually just looked up that information online."

"What the hell?" Lovino scowls in response. "So I basically could've just wiki'd this shit myself?"

"Yes, you could have." Kiku confirms. "But you called me, so… If I may ask… are you alright, Lovino?"

For a moment, Lovino pauses. Lovino pauses and considers telling the man everything. But then the Italian remembers a proverb of his that he has stuck to for years — 'do not rely on anyone because…'; and he swallows his words whole.

"Everything is fine." He grunts. "Bye."

"Alright… Goodbye, Lovino."

After the Italian ends the call, he braces himself and exits the room prepared for the worst, the worst of the worst. He realizes, however, as he sets eyes on the Spaniard who is standing idly in the living room that he has not mentally prepared himself enough. No, not at all. Nothing in the world could have prepared him for the sight, because—

— Antonio is no longer wearing the pink apron. No, he is not wearing that piece of clothing at all. Actually, he is not wearing any clothes period.

Antonio Carriedo Fernandez stands dripping wet in the middle of the living room; and he stands at the center of growing puddle of water. His olive skin is bare and exposed to the afternoon light; and liquid droplets hang from his dark hair. A thin and evidently too small hand towel is tied expertly around his waist and provides the man a slim amount of decency and "coverage". Steam streams out of the open bathroom door behind him.

Brilliant green meets deep amber.

"I forgot to bring clothes to change in the bathroom with me." Antonio explains sheepishly. "And I don't really remember where I put my clothes — if I even brought any clothes when I moved in. Did I?"

Lovino cannot respond to the man's question. He is too overwhelmed to even think of anything to say. So, he acts instead. Turning on his heels, he storms into his bedroom and digs into his closet. He returns a second later to the living room and tosses a handful of clothes into the man's arm. He then silently points to the bathroom door.

"Ah, gracias!" The man laughs as he takes the bundle in hand and disappears into the bathroom.

Lovino watches as the door to the bathroom closes shut. He counts to three in his head, before he walks over to the opposite end of the room and begins slamming his head against the wall. He can literally feel his face burning, like it has been lit on fire.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

He is pretty sure there is a Lovino-head-sized dent in the wall now—

Bang! Bang! Ban—

Lovino is suddenly pulled back by the shoulder and spun around. The grip on his shoulders is firm but not painfully tight.

"Roma, what are you doing? You're going to hurt yourself!"

— Antonio shouts such a thing as a rare and serious expression crosses his face. His frown is set; and his eyes are intense. Concern… But why? For who?

If it is not for the fact that the man's clothing are evidently too tight and too small for him, Lovino might have been able to respond reasonably to him. But, the clothes are too tight and too small, so Lovino responds brusquely—

"Get your hands off of me!"

Lovino smacks the man's hands off of his shoulders. Pauses as he notices that the man's expression is still serious.

"Why were you slamming your head against the wall? You could hurt yourself doing that."

"Because you give me a headache!" Lovino growls. "I'm basically babysitting yo—" His words become caught in his throat as his eyes catch onto a ribbon of red, a ribbon of red that trickles from Antonio's temple. "Y-you idiota! You ripped open your stitches!"

Antonio's serious expression dissipates almost immediately. He blinks in surprise and begins to reach for the open wound at his temple—

—but Lovino grabs his wrists and stops him short.

"What are you? Stupid? Do you wanna get that shit infected?"

Antonio stares at Lovino for a moment, before he offers a light laugh and says oh so casually, "Ay, it can't be that bad!"

For a split second Lovino considers smacking the man silly, but a quick glance at the man's temple dissuades such thoughts instantly. Instead he scowls and roughly jerks the man's hand to the side.

"Stay here and don't touch the fucking wound!"

He storms off into his bedroom and returns a minute later with a first aid kit in tow. He orders Antonio to sit on the couch and the latter complies. He plops down next to the man — not too close to the man — and opens up the kit.

"Turn your head, you bastard." Lovino orders him huffly.

Once again, Antonio complies.

Lovino scrutinizes the gash that runs diagonally along the man's temple. He grimaces at the torn sewing material that had once held the gash shut.

"Great, now I'm going to have to redo the entire thing!"

"Sorry…" Antonio mumbles apologetically.

Lovino looks at him. Really looks. The man's eyes are cast downwards.

"Whatever…" Lovino grumbles as he reaches into the first aid kit and pulls out nylon thread and a needle. "Just don't look at me…"

The Italian bends forward and begins working away at cleaning and fixing and sewing the wound closed. The Spaniard winces every so often as the needle pierces his skin; and Lovino finds himself wincing in turn. After the gash is sewn reasonably shut, Lovino begins wrapping the man's head in a fresh roll of bandages. He has to stand over the man in order to do this; and he can feel the man's green gaze prick his skin. Antonio has been observing him closely this entire time.

"I told you not to look at me, dammit." Lovino scowls as he fastens the end of the bandage tightly.

"I was just thinking, Roma," Antonio murmurs, "you seem very angry and grumpy all the time, but you have very kind hands."

Lovino blinks down at the Spaniard. Antonio blinks up at the Italian.

"What the hell?!" Lovino scowls as he jumps five feet backwards. "Don't say weird things like that or these

 _hands_ are going to smack you in the face!"

"Weird things?" Antonio pouts slightly. "That was mean. I was just being honest."

"Well keep your honesty to yourself, dammit." Lovino grumbles with narrowed eyes, before he ruffles his hair in distress. "Ugh, forget this shit. I'm going to bed!"

It is nightfall already. Thin silver moonlight streams into the room from the window.

"Already?" Antonio questions, rising from the couch.

"Yeah, taking care of your ass is exhausting." Lovino responds, walking towards his bedroom.

"Ay, so mean." Antonio responds as he takes several steps forwards. There is a pause. "Where do I usually sleep…?"

Lovino pauses as well, turns his head.

"I don't fucking know! You usually sleep on the floor or something!"

He storms into his bedroom for the third time that day and slams the door shut behind him. Antonio is left staring at the floor contemplatively. Before he can bend down and assess his 'bed' however, the door to Lovino's bedroom is thrown open and the Italian stumbles out from it with a messy stack of blankets and pillows held in his arms. He wobbles towards and past Antonio and unloads the mess onto the sofa.

"You usually sleep here, dumb-ass." Lovino states curtly as he points to the sofa. He brusquely turns on his heels and walks back into his room and closes the door shut.

"Gracias." Antonio calls after him. He briefly wonders why his supposed pillow and blankets were in the Italian's room in the first place.

* * *

Day 2

He wakes up to a plethora of sounds —

sizzling, crackling, popping, clacking, humming

— the sounds of a bustling kitchen.

For a moment he thinks of his father, then of his brother, and then finally of Antonio Fernandez Carriedo.

"Good morning!" Antonio sings as Lovino stumbles into the kitchen.

"Whatever." Lovino grumbles in response. He eyes the steaming pan the man hovers over. "Omelets? Again?"

"I wanted to make some paella, but I couldn't find all the ingredients." Antonio responds half-heartedly, before he breaks out into a smile. "But that's okay. Omelets are almost as good!"

Lovino raises an eyebrow at him hesitantly, curiously.

"Did you remember something overnight or anything?" He asks.

"No," the man responds after a contemplative pause. "Not really… But I'm sure it'll come back eventually!"

Lovino isn't sure whether to relieved or stressed at the man's sunny response.

After breakfast (in which Antonio chattered away happily and in which Lovino scowled intensely), Lovino finds himself unsure of what to do. He feels as if he cannot leave the ditsy Spanish man at home alone; but he feels uncomfortable being home alone with the amnesiac capo as well. So, he resorts to observing the Spaniard from afar as the man goes around cleaning the apartment — the apartment is quite a mess too. He, however, has to angrily intervene on the his own behalf several times when the Spaniard comes across the former's rather sensitive materials tucked away and abandoned in corners and cracks in the apartment. Tomato boxers, old albums, ripped out diary pages — all embarrassing things that the Spaniard finds while bustling around the apartment. All embarrassing things the Italian rips out of the man's hands as the man laughs a crystal clear laugh.

The day begins and ends in such a pattern.

* * *

Day 4

Lovino goes out on the fourth day — not before he establishes to Antonio that he is "too damned injured to leave the apartment" and therefore will probably just "trip and fall and hurt [himself] some more" if he leaves. "Doctor's orders". The Italian does his best to ignore the slight pouting expression and leaves with an angry scowl.

He spends the entire day trying to get his mind off of his situation. He attends his part-time job at the local bookstore — his boss isn't too annoyed with his absence — and then stops by a winery to pick out the perfect drink to drown his woes in. He also stops by a local thrift store and purchases several bundles of clothing — size: large. For Antonio. He is not doing it because he is concerned that the Spaniard's clothes are too small; he is doing it because seeing the Spaniard wearing such ill-fitting clothing irritates him to no end. In the end, he is doing it for himself.

He returns home when the sun has melted halfway into the ground. When he enters his apartment, he is strangely surprised at what he finds. The living room and the kitchen room lights are on; and the television which is placed on the wall opposite of the sofa — Antonio's bed — flickers with soft moving images.

"Welcome home, Roma!" comes a sing-song greeting from the man who occupies the sofa — from the man who watches the soft moving images on the television.

The abrupt and sudden greeting causes Lovino's heart to jump for a reason he does not know.

"W-Whatever, you bastard. And stop calling me that!" Lovino scowls as he tosses the bag containing the bundles of clothing at the man. "Aren't you supposed to be cleaning or something?"

"Si," the man shrugs half-heartedly before he smiles, "but I thought I would give myself a break; plus, there's a really good telenovela on — what's in this bag?"

"Clothes!" Lovino scowls intensely. "I can't stand you walking around the house like a stripper so I found some clothes off the street that I thought'd fit you."

Antonio's face brightens — brightens so much that it nearly blinds Lovino. Like the sun. Lovino squints at him murderously, because — well — a person does not smile back at the sun do they? No, they squint at it.

"Aw, you're too kind, Roma!"

"Shut up before I take those clothes away." Lovino growls curtly, before his eyes flick up to the screen. "What the hell is this shit?"

A woman draped in red stands in front of a too-beautiful-to-be-real sunset on the the television screen. She is staring off towards the sun for some reason and is noticeably _not_ squinting at it.

"La Casa y Aqua: Amor!" Antonio shouts a little too enthusiastically.

"Yeah, I don't know what the fuck you just said." Lovino grimaces as he walks behind the sofa and pauses there. He raises an eyebrow at the screen. There is a man standing by the woman now and he belts out musical lines in what Lovino assumes is Spanish. "Jesus Christ — you actually like watching this shit?"

He immediately regrets asking such a question.

"Si!" Antonio nods enthusiastically as he spins on the couch to face Lovino. He perches on his knees and leans forward so close to the Italian that they are almost nose to nose. "Ay, the romance, the passion—-"

"The terrible acting." Lovino finishes for him with a scowl as he shoves the man's face away and walks into the kitchen to drop off the tomatoes and the wine on the counter. He returns into the living room a second later with a tomato in hand. "Anyways, I thought you were more of an action movie kind of asshole. Y'know blood and violence."

"Que?" Antonio tilts his head slightly. He is still kneeling on the sofa and facing the direction opposite of the television set. "Are those the kind of movies I used to like watching before?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know?"

Lovino exits the living room and disappears into his bedroom. He reappears a minute later with a first aid kit dangling his free hand.

"We need to change your bandages, bastardo." Lovino grumbles. "I don't wanna have to take your ass to the hospital if it gets infected or something."

"Aw, you're so kind, Roma!" Antonio laughs as he makes room for the man on the couch.

"Shut up, you idiota." Lovino grimaces and sinks down next to him on the couch. He begins to unravel the man's old bandages; and every once in awhile, his gaze flickers towards the images dancing on the screen. He scowls as the red draped woman suddenly kisses one of the two men on the screen."Ugh, is that lady really choosing that ugly mug over the other guy? Is she stupid?"

"Esperanza thinks Tulio — that's the guy's she's kissing — is the one who saved her father's business when she was younger." Antonio explains with sparkling eyes. "But Enrique — that's the more handsome guy standing over there — is actually the one who saved the business; but he has lied to Esperanza so many times that she no longer trusts him."

"That's fucking cliche." Lovino grumbles, reaching for the cleaner bandages. His eyes are glued to the screen. "What the— Why the fuck are those two guys having eye sex when that Tulio guy is eating that chick's face off?"

"Ay, that's because Tulio and Enrique are secretly lovers." Antonio explains matter-of-factly.

Lovino recoils. "So why the fuck is Tulio making out with Esper-whatever then?"

"It's because he knows that Enrique also harbors feelings for Esperanza and Tulio knows this; and he's trying to hurt Enrique!"

"That's stupid." Lovino scowls as he begins to wrap the fresh bandages around Antonio's head. A flash of red suddenly cuts across the screen and causes the Italian to jump. "What the fuck?! Why did Esperanza just run over and stab Enrique for?"

"Because she knows about Enrique and Tulio's relationship." Antonio nods gravely. "And she is a very jealous woman and—"

"She's jealous so she goes and stabs a guy?" Lovino shouts in disbelief as he fastens the bandages tightly to Antonio's head. "Where the fuck did that knife even come from?"

"Esperanza was actually raised as an assassin." Antonio explains, not noticing as Lovino winces at the last word. "The other reason why she stabbed Enrique is because she has been hired to kill him."

"What the hell? That's so fucking convoluted!" Lovino shakes his head in exasperation. He reaches over to the arm of the sofa where the tomato he had been eating earlier has been place; and he picks it up and bites into it with his eyes still glued to the screen. "And why is Tulio just standing there?"

"Tulio's mother was actually murdered in a similar fashion." Antonio explains cheerily as he eyes the red fruit with slight curiosity. "So he's pretty traumatized right now."

"Traumatized?" Lovino scoffs. "What an idiot! Call a fucking ambulance!"

Antonio simply laughs and returns his attention to the screen.

When the telenovela ends, Lovino is left fuming with questions. He turns to Toni and prepares to fire away numerous queries, but he finds that the man is dozing peacefully away. Needless to say, Lovino is left feeling embarrassed and angry and sour.

* * *

Day 5

Antonio tries to get Lovino to spill the beans on the ending of the telenovela, but Lovino bitterly ignores him.

* * *

Day 7

On the one week anniversary of what Lovino deems "effectively screwing up his life", he enters his apartment with a bag of tomatoes in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. The television is on again; and a guitar melody thrums in the background. Another telenovela.

"Welcome back," comes Antonio's singsong voice from the kitchen.

There is a pleasant and smokey smell in the air. Dinner has already been cooked.

Lovino enters the kitchen and places the bottle of wine and the bag of tomatoes on the counter. He reaches into the bag and pulls out the fleshy fruit and bites into it. He scowls as Antonio gazes at him curiously.

"What is it, dammit?"

"I was just wondering…" Antonio draws out slowly, seriously, as he wipes his hands on his shirt and approaches the Italian. He points to the tomato in the man's hands. "What is that? I always see you eating it."

A pause.

"You're joking, right?" Lovino frowns.

"No, I'm being serious, Roma," the man pouts slightly. "Is it some kind of special Italian fruit?"

"Wha?" Lovino recoils. "But you're Spanish! You guys are all about this stuff!"

"That's kind of racist, y'know?" Antonio raises an eyebrow before he laughs airily. "Really, what is it?"

Lovino stares at him for a long drawn out moment. Tries to determine whether or not the man is serious or not. Determines that the man really is serious. Resists rubbing the bridge of his nose. Has the man forgotten basic foods as well as his identity?

"Pomodoro." Lovino explains as he takes another nibble of the fruit. "It's a pomodoro, the best fruit that God has ever blessed this shitty earth with."

"P-Pom… a… dora…?" Antonio repeats and stutters over the word with furrowed eyebrows and a rare frustrated expression.

"Pomodoro!" Lovino clicks his tongue, before he pauses and searches the back of his mind for an equivalent word. "Tomato, it's a tomato! Tomate!"

"Tomate!" Antonio repeats; and his expression brightens once more. "Ay, that does sound familiar!"

"It's too much of a pain to explain it…" Lovino grumbles as he reaches into the bag and procures another — albeit smaller — tomato. He tosses it at the man and watches as he scrambles to catch it. "Try some for yourself."

Antonio holds the circular red fruit tentatively in his hand. He weighs it, holds it to the light, squints at it scrutinizingly.

"Just eat it, dammit!" Lovino scowls. "You usually dive right into this stuff!"

"Haha, you're right." Toni laughs. "No point in hesitation!"

Lovino watches as the man takes a large bite of the tomato. Watches as the carefree expression slides away from the man's face; watches as his entire face brightens. Watches as the man's eyes widen ever so slightly; watches as they twinkle under the kitchen lights. And then, yes, there it is—

— the man's face breaks out into a wide smile. Lovino can't help but feel a slight feeling of pride.

"Dios mio! This is amazing!"

"I told you." Lovino huffs, crossing his arms.

Antonio prepares to take another bite of the fruit but pauses suddenly and holds the tomato out to Lovino's face. The action causes the shorter man to start. Feeling his cheeks begin to burn under the man's sudden attention, Lovino scowls—

"What is it, you bastardo?!"

"Ay, that's what your face looks like when you're embarrassed! A tomate!"

Antonio ends up having to take a long shower at the end of the day in order to get all the tomato bits out of his hair.

…

Arthur Kirkland holds in his hands a thick bundle of newspapers. The title of the first page reads, 'Missing Spanish Businessman still not found!'. He reads the passage's contents over once, then twice, and then thrice. On his fourth read through, he allows a small smirk to crawl up his pale face.

"Serves the limey bastard right!"

He carefully folds the newspaper into a square and creases its edges.

"Now is the perfect time to make my move! Well, I've got to at least do something before that frog gets wind of this…"

"Hey, Kirky, are you talking to yourself again? Oh my god you are! Dude, you really need to find some friends!"

"S-Shut up, Alfred!"

* * *

 _[Antonio_ _ **knew**_ _that it happened on the first day. On the first day, when he laid eyes on the Italian, he immediately began to care for him.]_

* * *

pomodoro [Italian]

tomato (noun) / the best thing Toni has ever put into his mouth, Lovino's face when he is embarrassed, something that Lovino and Toni eat together while watching La Casa y Aqua: Amor, Dos

* * *

Day 8

Lovino returns home after a rather bland day of work — no pretty girls had visited the bookstore at all! He enters his apartment and freezes as he notes several things: no lights are on, no telenovela flickers on the television set, no scent wafts out from the kitchen, and… there is no Antonio in sight.

* * *

 **A/N** : Thanks to those who followed, favorited, and reviewed! o u o. You're making me blush! Looks like this chapter is pretty long this time around xD.

I honestly should be studying for this mini-quiz I have coming up in chem and getting myself back on track after break instead of writing fanfics, but I am just so lazy…


	4. Casa

**My (False) Love**

004: Casa

home (n.) / a house, apartment, or other shelter that is the usual residence of a person, family, or household

* * *

Day 8

Toni is idly flipping through the telenovelas on television when he suddenly finds himself yawning loudly. He rubs his eyes and straightens himself out on the couch. He finds that watching telenovelas alone isn't as fun as watching them with Romano. The fun is still there but it's just not as poignant.

His green eyes turn towards the large closed window of the apartment. Translucent yellow rays beat through the thick glass.

Still morning.

Romano hasn't even been gone for an hour yet.

His gaze sweeps the room. Nothing really out of place. Nothing really to do. He supposes he could take a nice little siesta, but—

— his eyes are drawn towards the window, towards what lays beyond the window.

It's such a beautiful day. Clear blue skies, not a cloud in sight.

Ay, he cannot resist!

He throws on a simple white shirt and a pair of jeans; digs into his old suit jacket which still lies crumpled in the corner of the room; grins in surprise as he procures a fat wallet from its pockets; and exits the apartment with a hum.

…

When Lovino arrives home, he blinks in confusion at the darkness that shrouds his apartment.

Something doesn't seem right.

A piece is missing from the puzzle.

Frowning, he flicks on the lights and walks in slowly. His senses are screaming at him; his nerves are telling him that something is terribly wrong; and he can feel goosebumps prick his skin.

"T-Toni?" Lovino scowls, his amber eyes sweeping the room quickly. "Oi, Toni, you bastard! Where are you?"

Silence.

His heart skips a beat. His stomach twists uncomfortably.

"Antonio!"

Nothing.

A plethora of thoughts rush through the Italian's head.

Where is Antonio? Has the man regained his memories and left the place? Is he lying in wait somewhere to get his revenge? No… Has someone discovered Antonio's state of mind and kidnapped him? Is the man in trouble? (Why is he even so worried about this man?) Has—

A small flash of pale yellow catches Lovino's attention. A sticky note. It clings to the black screen of the television set — yellow against black.

The Italian strides over to the television set and rips the note from the flat screen. He skims it over once, twice.

"That _**idiota**_!"

A handful of simple sentences are scribbled onto the square parchment. It reads—

Welcome home, Roma!

I thought that I would go outside today and maybe

buy some ingredients for the paella I was talking

about a couple days ago. It's such a beautiful day.

I can't resist! Oh, La Casa Y Aqua: Amor Tres is on

at three today if you want to record it. I'm confident

my Roma can man and keep the house clean without

me! Ay, I almost forgot! I found a lot of money in my

old jacket! I must have won lots at the casino before

I lost my memories or something? I'll buy you some-

thing nice, si? Haha, this note is getting kind of long!

Love, Toni ᕙ(^▿^-ᕙ)

There is a small tomato drawn in the very top left corner of the note.

"That dumbass is going to get himself killed!" Lovino shouts exasperatedly to himself as he paces the room in a panic. "He's probably waltzing into some famiglia's hideout thinking that it's some kind of fucking fancy restaurant!"

 _But why is that a bad thing — if he wanders off and gets himself killed by another gang? If Toni dies, then I don't have to worry about the bastardo anymore! My problems will be over! Actually, it's better if he gets lost and never comes back… He's the source of my problems anywa—_

"Like hell, dammit!" Lovino growls as he throws on a thicker jacket and turns on his heels towards the door. "I'm too busy to clean this apartment by myself! … The bastard is so damn lucky that he's my roommate!"

And thus the Italian dashes out of his apartment and out onto the slowly darkening streets.

…

The sunlight that peeks in-between the stone villas is absolutely rejuvenating. Antonio stretches out and bathes himself in the bright rays. People walking pleasantly along the street eye him with curiosity.

A model?

A foreigner.

A Spanish man.

Injured?

The whispers float along the streets and make their way towards the dark corners of the town. But none of these whispers catch the Spaniard's attention. The food stalls look too appetizing, the street performers too amusing, the vendors too intriguing.

Antonio smiles at them as he passes by; and they smile back at him in turn — his smile is too infectious. The man even smiles at those passing him by. He even smiles at the man — said man is dressed in the tight and crisp business suit that seems to be suffocating him — who stands in the darkness of an alleyway and who holds a rather important-looking briefcase in hand. The man flashes Antonio a smile in turn on instinct; but then, their gazes meet; and the suited man's expression becomes a horrified one.

The transporter Nico Basilio has laid eyes on the infamous capo Antonio Fernandez Carriedo.

Nico takes a step backwards in preparation to dash in the opposite direction but trips over his own two feet when the man passes him by without sparing him a second glance. Perhaps the man did not recognize him? Whatever the case, Nico knows he has to get this information to Romano immediately.

…

Lovino bumps into Nico as he rounds the corner of an antique store. The man is flustered and flabbergasted to say the least.

"Wha-what the fuck are you doing here?!" Lovino half stutters, half shouts. His nervousness is clear as day.

"H-He's alive, Mister Romano!" Nico whimpers as he clings to the man's clothing. His nervousness is also clear as day. "Fernandez Carriedo is alive! I saw him—"

"What?!" Romano hisses with widened eyes. He grips Nico by the scruff and shakes the man roughly. "Where did you see that idiota?!"

"Near Rosa Street!" Nico exclaims, overtaken by the other man's intensity. "Wha-what are you going to—"

But Lovino has already turned the corner and dashed down the alleyway.

…

Antonio finds the thing hidden beneath planks of wood. Why anyone would have abandoned such a thing there, the man isn't quite sure.

He bends down in the alleyway and removes the thing from the clutter. It's in almost perfect shape. In fact, save for a small chip in its wooden body, it seems brand new.

He wonders for a moment if he can play it.

Pursing his lips, he runs his fingers across its neck.

Disjointed thrums hit the air.

Frowning, he reaches upwards and adjusts several of the knobs that line the thing's upper neck. After a minute of doing this, he runs his fingers along its neck again.

A musical sound.

He grins ear to ear and straps the thing to his back.

…

Meanwhile, Lovino Vargas is literally shitting his pants.

Antonio F. C. Antonio Fucking Carriedo. The source of his woes. The birthplace of his problems—

— and here Lovino finds himself tearing through the small villa searching for him.

But why?

Lovino can't understand himself at all.

Why can't he just let this man go? Let him wander away and never come back? Let him get offed by another hit-man?

Lovino tries to tell himself that he's gotten used to Toni cleaning the house and doesn't want to spend money on an actual maid. He tries to tell himself that he doesn't want some other hit-man to off Antonio — that wants to off Antonio himself when the man recovers, but…

… then he finds himself reminiscing (of all things) about the man. He doesn't recall what the man was like during their first encounter — smirking beneath poisonous green eyes. No, for some reason that first encounter is like a distant memory. Instead, Lovino recalls their second encounter — smiling brightly beneath sparkling green eyes. He recalls the man's gaze, recalls how the man's gaze always focused attentively on him whenever he even so much as grunted, recalls how the man's gaze made him feel like he was someone actually worth listening to — not some wayward foul-mouthed street brat, but… an important person? It's something he had never felt before in his life.

'You have kind hands, Roma.'

 _Ugh! Bullshit! 'Kind hands' that are only good at killing? Utter bullshit! Lying bastardo!_

But Lovino knows that Toni is incapable of lying about things like that. The man is incapable of true and pure ill will. He is like a child, a child who enjoys watching crappily written telenovelas, who thinks that belting out cheesey lines and singing songs to a lover at sunset is "passionate and romantic", who laughs brightly and cheerfully even in dire situations, who laughs musically when trying a tomato for the "first time" he can remember, who has no tact and acts like a ditz even with a clear head, who thinks Lovino is "kind", who thinks Lovino's defensive anger is "cute", who listens and respond to every word Lovino says—

— _who is a fucking dangerous capo! The 'Conquistador'? Come on! You know that sounds bad!_

 _But what the hell does that matter? He's not like that now, dammit!_

Lovino skids to a halt as the two stray thoughts clash within his mind.

Impossible.

 _There's no way._

The realization hits Lovino square in the face. It stings like a slap.

 _I actually_ _ **care**_ _about that bastard…?_

No. Impossible.

 _I've only known him for a fucking week!_

Lovino refuses to believe it. There is no way that he cares about this person — this figment of a person. This person who is supposed to be his enemy.

 _It must be something else. It has to be!_

But Lovino's feet begin moving underneath him again.

 _ **I'm**_ _the idiota._

…

He is browsing a stall that sells straw sun hats when the young woman grabs his arm and spins him around. His guitar nearly swings off of his back and right into her face.

The woman is very pretty. Her eyes — they're wide and they're searching his face for some reason — are a bright green, and her hair almost matches the color of one of the newer straw hats placed on display. Despite her petite form, her grip on his arm is irontight. _Bella_ , a voice at the back of his head whispers. _Beautiful_.

"Antonio?" She says in barely a whisper.

"Que?" He answers her question with another question.

"It _is_ you!" She breathes a sigh of relief, before she suddenly asks in a very demanding voice: "Where in the world have you been, Antonio?" She sounds worried. Very worried. Concerned? "Things have been going crazy without you lately!"

"What do you mean?" He tilts his head ever so slightly; his eyes appraise her once more. "Who are you?"

She recoils at the question.

"It's _me_ — Bella."

Her grip on his arm loosens; but the intensity of her expression increases tenfold as she searches his face.

"Don't you recognize me?"

" _Bella_." He repeats the name and allows the syllable to roll off his tongue like honey; and then he offers her a bright smile. "A name fitting for such a beautiful woman."

Her hand drops to her side; and she looks at him. Really looks. At his smile. At everything. A very quiet voice at the back of his head whispers, 'what do you think she sees?'

"Haha, lo siento," he chuckles lightly, "but I think you've got the wrong person, Bella. "

She starts at his laugh. She tries to hide how his laugh affects her, but her expression betrays her. It is a nostalgic expression. Yes, she has definitely heard such a laugh before. A very long time ago. A distant memory—-

—but the Spaniard does not notice these nuances in the woman's manners at all.

"My name is Toni." He says firmly as if those four words explain it all.

Her expression turns incredulous. Disbelieving. Almost angry. This changes however, as her green gaze rises up towards the bandages wrapped around his head.

"Ay," he laughs as he noticed her gaze; he gestures offhandedly to his temple, "I got into an accident around last week."

The woman, Bella, quickly closes her gaping mouth. She blinks at him and whips her head around in all directions — her golden hair spirals out like rays of the sun. She's looking for something. Or maybe her neck has spazzed out all of a sudden. Toni isn't too sure. Whatever it is, the matter is soon resolved; and the woman returns her attention to the Spaniard.

"My mistake." She says slowly. There is hesitation in her voice. "I…"

Toni cocks his head at her curiously. She averts her gaze.

"Ah," he claps his hands suddenly causing her to start, "would you like to be my hat judge for today?"

"Judge?" She repeats with slightly raised brows.

"Si," Antonio nods as he pulls a straw hat off of its hook, "you can never to be sure if you've chosen the right hat or not!"

"I…" Her gaze drifts towards the crowded streets, before she finally offers a smile. "I suppose I could."

He beams at her.

…

Lovino skids to a stop in front of an accessory stall that seems to sell straw hats. He slams his hands down on the counter to reign in the shop owner's attention.

"Oi, bastardo," Lovino pants at him, "did you see a Spanish man walking past here?"

"Excuse me?" The stall manager questions — almost sneers — with a raised eyebrow. The man has a strange accent that Lovino can't place.

Lovino recoils slightly.

The manager looks tough — not too tough though. His skin is dark — almost as dark as Antonio's; and his hair is several shades darker and somewhat unruly. There is a shadow cast over his face which makes it difficult for Lovino to judge his appearance.

 _Yeah, I can totally take down this bastard if I wanted to. Even if I don't have my gun on me! Even if this bastard has a fuckin' height advantage._

"Excuse me, sir," the stall manager clears his throat. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"W-What?" Lovino scowls, once again speaking before thinking. "Are you deaf? I asked you if you saw a Spanish-looking guy pass by you're shitty stall earlier today!"

The man pauses and observes Lovino silently. The latter shrinks somewhat under the gaze.

"What's he look like?" The man asks as he rubs his stubbled chin.

"Green eyes.." Lovino grunts impatiently. "Very smiley. Laughs at almost everything?"

"Ah!" The man's eyes widen at the description; and he claps his hands. "Yes, that man! Toni or something was it?"

"Yes!" Lovino exclaims. "Toni!"

"Yeah, he stopped by here about half an hour ago." The man grunts in response. "Bought a sunhat with some lady—"

"The bastard was with somebody?" Lovino raises an irritated brow.

"Yeah, a real pretty lady." The man nods. "Tall, blonde, green eyes…"

Lovino doesn't need to hear the man finish to know what "pretty lady" the man refers to. He remembers the pretty lady the man speaks of. He remembers seeing her sway hesitantly by Antonio Fernandez Carriedo side all those weeks before. He remembers, and he pales at a sudden realization.

He is too late.

"Yeah, lady acted like she knew the guy but it was apparently a case of mistaken identity."

Lovino's head perks up at the new information.

"What did you say?"

"She thought he was some Antonio guy or whatever but he cleared it up and said that he was Toni." The man explains. "They tried on some hats after that and left together."

Lovino allows an expression of confusion to smooth over his face.

There's no way that the woman didn't recognize Antonio. No way at all.

He realizes that he might as well just turn back now. The man is probably already with his old famiglia. Lovino pales even more at this realization.

 _What if that idiota tells them about me?! I'll have to relocate!_

He shakes his head roughly.

 _Wait. Wait. I don't even know if it's the same lady. It could be some other blond chick._

"Which way were they headed, dammit?"

The man points to a direction south; and Lovino departs without another word.

 _That idiota is so fucking dead!_

…

Antonio and Bella stride down the cobblestone streets side-by-side. The man's pace is leisurely and relaxed, while the woman walks with a hesitant gait. Although they're walking styles differ, they share one similarity — they both carry straw hats. The woman's straw hat rests deftly on her golden curls, while the man's straw hat dangles behind him from a nylon rope around his neck.

Every so often, the woman spares the man a glance; but the humming man does not notice this.

"So _Toni_ ," the woman finally speaks in a hesitant tone, "... what do you do for a living?"

"I'm a part-time maid." He answers her matter-of-factually.

"A maid?!" She squeaks. She looks somewhat peeved, angry and upset even. "But you're…!"

"Hm?" He turns to her questioningly.

"I-it's nothing!" She waves him off with a nervous laugh. Her slender fingers toy with the brim of her hat. "So… Who are you a maid for?"

"Ah," he laughs, "for my roommate Roma!"

" _Roommate_?" She repeats in slight disbelief.

"Si, he's kind of mean." Antonio explains with a cheerful tone. "But I can tell he's a really decent person. He's been taking care of me ever since my accident, although he doesn't like admitting it for some reason…."

"I see…" Bella murmurs contemplatively. "What was your roommate's name again?"

At the question, Antonio's face immediately brightens. It brightens so much that it nearly brings tears to Bella's eyes.

"Roma!" He responds enthusiastically, before he laughs. "He doesn't like it when I call him that though. He gets all embarrassed for some reason… His real name is Romano!"

The tears are gone. An expression of utter horror has taken its place. Bella is so caught up in her horror that she nearly trips over her own two feet. Antonio catches her, however, and peers down at her worriedly.

"Dios mio, are you alright, Bella?"

His touch is firm yet gentle, so unlike—

Bella shakes her head, straightens herself, peers into Antonio's face with furrowed eyebrows.

"Romano?" She repeats the name in a harsh whisper. "Sicario Romano?"

"Que? Do you know him?" Antonio answers her in confusion. "I don't know about 'Sicario' being Roma's first name though. I've always thought that Romano was his first name."

Her green eyes widen slightly, and she pales. She leans forward and grips his upper arms tightly.

"Listen to me, Antonio. You need to stay away from that Romano." Bella whispers. "He is dangerous! Does he know who you are?"

"What are you talking about?" Antonio tilts his head in confusion. "Roma isn't dangerous. I mean, sure, he can be a bit violent and mean sometimes but that doesn't mean that he's dangerous." His smile falls slightly. "I don't think it's right for a person to be judged without getting better known first."

Bella parts her mouth wordlessly, before she bites her lips. She has so many things she wants to say to the man, so many things she wants to warn the man about, so many things she wants to tell _this_ man about; but she also wants to _preserve_ this man.

"Say," Antonio says, his smile brightening suddenly, "there's no point in arguing about Roma when we aren't even sure if we're talking about the same Roma, si? It'd just tire us out eventually." He pauses suddenly and studies her. A strange expression — a serious one — crosses his face. "Did you just... call me 'Antonio' again?"

"A mistake!" She finds herself laughing abruptly, painfully. She takes his hand in hers. "Ah, have you seen the fountain at the center of the town?"

His serious expression dissipates at her laugh.

"A fountain?" He repeats with a curious smile.

"Y-Yes," she nods a little bit too enthusiastically, as she tugs him down an alleyway, "here, I'll show you!"

…

Lovino finds himself lost in the town square. He feels absolutely disgusting. The hot sweat he has accumulated throughout the day has become like glue, forcing his clothing to adhere to his skin. The burning sensation — either from too much hot air or too much cold air — in his lungs reignites whenever he sucks in a shaky breath.

 _Dammit…!_

The Italian doubles over and grips his knees tightly with his hands. They throb — his hands, his legs, his arms. Everything throbs.

Everything is cloudy too. It's like he has sunken into a haze, a haze of exhaustion.

Lovino doesn't understand how he is even standing at this point. He wonders why he hasn't collapsed from exhaustion yet. Stamina had never been his forte.

 _Where the hell is that bastard?!_

With effort, he raises his head and angrily — no, desperately — scans the crowd swaying around him. The sky has darkened considerably, so he has trouble registering their features and identifying their demeanors. However, the lights from the lamps surrounding the square suddenly buzz on; and everything becomes bathed in painful brightness. But everything is still hazy and muddled.

 _Don't tell me that the lady really was…?_

The only things that the young man can hear are his own heavy panting and a high-pitched ringing. The two sounds drown out every other noise — the faint sound of pattering water, the mumbles and whispers of the crowd around him, the faint buzzing of the idly floating lightbugs.

Everything.

Everything is drowned out by the cacophony.

But then, there is a single prick of noise that sounds neither like ringing nor panting.

Lovino's head perks up at the foreignness. He strains his ears, hold his breath, waits.

 _Twngggg!_

There. There it is again. That sound. Lovino recognizes it.

 _Twng! Twng! Tvvvvng!_

He has heard it so many times before in the background of La Casa Y Aqua during dramatic "passionate" scenes. Yes, he recognizes that musical sound.

 _You've got to be kidding me…!_

Without a drop of hesitation or hint of exhaustion, Lovino dashes for the sound.

…

The fountain is one of the most beautiful things he has ever laid eyes on in what little he can remember of his life. It is chiseled from what appears to be white limestone; and it rises up like a behemoth from a large rectangular pool. Water spurts from its top and trickles down its steps and then down into the basin.

"Dios mio, Bella!" Antonio exclaims as he grabs the woman by the shoulder, pulls her close, and points to the thing excitedly. "Look at how big it is! It's asombroso!"

And he begins to quickly, rapidly fire off words in that musical language of his. His excitement is simple and child-like but bright as well.

"Yes, well," Bella laughs pleasantly in his hold, "it's a knockoff of the one in Venice, but it's still pretty great, huh?"

They walk to the edge of the fountain together — a difficult feat due to the fact that the area around the fountain is so crowded. A faint mist breezes against their skins as they come to a stop besides the pool.

Antonio collapses on the edge of the fountain and let's out a heavy but pleasant sigh.

"Ay, it's been such a long day." He says as he tilts his head back to observe the waterworks. "It's nice to sit down and relax a bit."

He gestures for the woman to sit down next to him; and she complies without much hesitation. They sit in silence. The woman continues to give the man side glances just as she had done earlier in the day, but this time the man notices.

"Is there something on my face?" He asks, peering into _her_ face.

"Ah, no!" She laughs nervously as she hides in her golden hair. "Not at all…"

"Hm, alright."

The man seems to take it in stride.

"By the way, where are you from? You sound like you kind of have an accent."

"Belgium." Bella replies curtly. "Although I lived in Madrid for a couple of years." She eyes him again.

"Madrid?" The man frowns a rare frown in turn. "Isn't that the capital of Spain?"

"Yes…" The woman breathes quietly.

They gaze at each other for a moment. Their eyes are only several shades different in color from each other. Forest green against emerald green.

The sky is finally beginning to darken. The bright blue backdrop of the sky has dimmed into an almost purplish hue. The color blends in with the the rosy pink that surrounds the orange disk of the sun that peeks in between the stone villas.

The lamp posts surrounding the square hum and then flicker on. Strange shadows are cast over the fountain — over faces. In the darkness, shades of green seem to glow.

It is then that the woman finally notices the contraption strapped to the man's back. Her eyes widen slightly at the sight; and her expression becomes somewhat mischievous—

"Can you play?"

The man follows her gaze; and his smile returns to his face once more.

"I'm not sure." Antonio hums as he unstraps the thing from his back and rests it on his lap. After a short pause, he runs his fingers along the strings that run up its neck and then hoists the thing up with his right hand.

Right hand on the neck, and left arm strung over the body.

The woman observes him.

He runs his fingers along the brass strings once, twice, thrice. His right fingers glide and find spaces on the thing's neck that are "just right"; they press down on them.

His left hand goes flying over the strings.

A musical sound erupts. But then—

"Bella?"

A man with hair like straw appears out from the crowd and calls out to the woman. She shoots up at the call like a volt of electricity has just been sent through her body.

"B-Brother!" She calls out to the man and holds her hands out as if to calm him. "I-I can explain. Just don't…!"

But it's too late. The man's blue eyes lock onto the Spaniard's face. And, like a whiplash, he takes a step forward and grabs the Spanish man by the scruff of his shirt. The man's knuckles are as white as marble and almost camouflage with the white of the tanner man's shirt.

"Brother, wait!"

The man glares blue daggers at Antonio. Stabs him over and over with his eyes but…

"Lo siento! Did you not like my playing?"

There is no indication that the Spanish man even remotely registers the threat. The blue-eyed man silently seethes at this response before his eyes flicker down towards the guitar held loosely in the other man's hand.

"Brother," Bella whispers as she grabs the blue-eyed man's arm, "let me explain."

The addressed side glances at the woman before returning his gaze to the nervously smiling man.

" _Jan_."

The name is said calmly, but firmly. The grip on the blue-eyed man's arm tightens.

Jan releases his hold on Antonio.

A very quiet voice at the back of Toni's head whispers, 'Are you really going to let him treat you like that?'

"Let's discuss this over there." Bella jerks her blonde head in a vague direction far off from the fountain. Her eyes fall onto Antonio's face, and they register the fact that there is a slight frown there. "I'll be back in a couple minutes, Toni."

Her smile is forced.

Antonio can see that it is. He can always tell — whether an emotion is forced or not that is. Now, the reason behind those forced or true emotions he could never figure out. He never cared to — a voice whispers this information to him at the very back of his mind.

"I'll be waiting." He responds with half-hearted cheer back to her.

He watches as the two disappear into the crowd, and he thinks.

Why is that man so mad at him?

An overprotective brother? Maybe. Yes, that seems very likely.

Antonio continues to mull as he plops down in his former pseudochair. His fingers find their way around the guitar again and, without him even ordering them to do so, they play.

…

Lovino pushes past the brambles of human bodies that have overgrown the town square. They fight back against him; they too are curious; they too want to find out where that _music_ is coming from. But Lovino has always been good at getting his way through crowds, so he — while spewing angry curses and handing out scowls — forces his way into the center of the plaza. Stumbles forward and looks up.

It's just like a scene from a telenovela.

There's a great stone fountain that rains out a heavy downpour of clear water. The droplets twinkle and reflect the orange light of the lamp posts like stars in the blue darkness. Fireflies float lazily amongst everything like they are embers from a long put out fire.

Sitting in front of this idyllic backdrop is Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. The bandage wrapped around his forehead looks like it is in need of change, but other than that nuance the man looks... normal. (He looks like 'Toni', and Lovino can't help but feel the burning sensation in his lungs lessen at the realization). The man's bright green eyes are serene; and they focus intently on the object held in his hands and resting on his lap. A guitar. His fingers dance across it madly; they pluck at the strings skillfully; it's like they're dancing on the neck of the instrument.

And the music resonating from the hollow thing is beautiful. Each _thrum!_ that hits the air resonates with Lovino's heartbeat. He can do nothing but stare in awe at both the sight and the sound.

 _Thrum-thrum! Thrum!_

 _Thump-thump! Thump!_

Yes, it is just like a telenovela. All that is missing is the appearance of the love interest.

The melodious thrums stop abruptly; and Lovino thinks that his heart almost stops as well.

"Roma?"

…

When Antonio sees Lovino at the edge of the crowd from the corner of his eye, he can't help but feel a burst of [happiness] explode in his chest. The man cannot really explain it, but this [happiness] is not the "happiness" he feels when he watches telenovelas nor is it the "happiness" he feels on a daily basis. If anything, it's comparable to the happiness he feels when Romano watches telenovelas with him. Yes, it's that kind of "happiness".

But why is he feeling such "happiness"?

Because he is excited. He is excited to tell Roma about his day. To tell Roma about the girl who he had tried sunhats on with and about her strangely intimidating brother. To tell him about how amazing the water fountain behind him is. To tell him about how he can play music like it was second nature.

So he hops to his feet and bounds over to the Italian who stands in place with widened eyes and parted lips.

 _Bella —_

— the voice does not whisper this to him. No, he himself thinks these words suddenly as he observes the Italian—

— _beautiful_.

It is then that the Spanish man wonders how exactly the Italian had found him in such a place, so he asks him such.

Lovino stares blankly at Antonio. He stares blankly at Antonio before his mouth morphs into its characteristic scowl.

"'How did I 'find you', you bastard?" Lovino hisses as he grabs the man by his scruff. "I fuckin' scoured the entire town looking for you!"

"Que?" Antonio responds in confusion; his smile falters slightly. "Why would you do that? You saw my note, didn't you?"

There is a pause and then a recoil.

"Yes, I saw your stupid note, you dumb ass!" Lovino growls, his face burning a bright shade of red. "It was the only reason I knew you weren't fucking kidnapped or something!"

"Kidnapped?" Antonio laughs as he holds up his hands in mock defense. "Why would I have been kidnapped?"

"Because you're stupid, that's why!" Lovino responds heatedly, shaking the man even more roughly. "Stupid enough to go outside even though I told you not to!"

"Aw, Roma," Antonio chuckles, his eyes brightening and his smile softening, "were you that worried about me?"

There is a pause again; and Lovino freezes mid scowl. His face darkens into an even deeper shade of red. Like a tomato, Antonio wants to say — but he doesn't. He doesn't, because he realizes something. He realizes that something in Lovino's demeanor is forced. Now, he doesn't know what it is that is being forced nor why it is being forced, but he wants to know the reason behind it. Even though that strange voice at the back of his head tells him that he never cared for those types of things, Toni wants to know.

…

 _Of course I was fucking worried!_

"Why the hell would I be fucking worried about you?" Lovino hisses. "I just didn't want to lose my fucking part-time maid, you bastardo!"

Antonio simply laughs that care-free musical laugh of his. "Ay, sonrisa, Roma! I'm okay. See?" He gestures to his body plainly. "I'm alright!"

"I don't care if you're alright!" Lovino scowls as he prepares to swat the man over the head; he pauses, eyes the bandages wrapped around the man's head, and punches the man in the stomach instead. "You bastard!"

"Ow!" Antonio winces as he doubles over at the dull pain. "What was that for?!"

"For making me run around town all day, dammit!"

Antonio perks his head up at the statement; and Lovino finds himself staring down into a pair of strangely warm eyes.

"Sorry," Antonio offers a small smile — different from the other ones he has worn, "for worrying you, Romano."

Lovino can only stare at him. Stare at him and regret the fact that he had punched the man in the first place. But then Lovino remembers something. He remembers that the town square is crowded and that all eyes are on them. He remembers how devastating the name 'Romano' can be.

"Shut up, you bastardo!" Lovino hisses as he runs to Antonio and clamps his hand over the Spaniard's mouth.

The Spanish man furrows his eyebrows in confusion at the action and tries to peel the clammy hand away. Lovino fights back against him which simply causes Antonio to fight back in turn.

"Rom...mf!" Antonio mumbles through the mask of meat. "What's wrong, Roma?"

"Don't say that name!" Lovino scowls, clamping his hand even tighter over the man's mouth.

"But whymmmf?" Antonio frowns at him in confusion. "That's your name…"

"Shut up! No, it isn't!" Lovino whispers heatedly to the man. He snaps the next two phrases without thinking once again: "Lovino! My name is Lovino Vargas!"

 _Why the fuck did I just—?!_

"Que?" Antonio whispers, craning his head back to study the Italian. "But how come you said that you're name was Roma— _ **mmmf**_!"

"I lied!" Lovino snaps quickly, once again not thinking. "I was embarrassed about my real name! It's stupid sounding!"

Antonio ceases his struggling and relaxes in the Italian's grasp. He leans back against the Italian's body and cranes his neck again. Their eyes meet.

"Lovino is not a stupid sounding name." Antonio laughs. "If anything, it's a very beautiful name…. Plus, you can make it into a very cute nickname too — Lovi!"

As soon as the diminutive reaches Lovino's ears, he swears loudly, embarrassedly and shoves the man to the side.

"Don't call me that, dammit!"

"Oh, Lovi!" Antonio chirps suddenly, seeming to not notice the Italian's flustered expression; he swings the guitar over his back. "I need to show you my friend Bella!"

"Bella…?" Lovino frowns. He is too bothered by this information to even care about the embarrassing nickname at the moment. "Who is that?" He pauses, his eyes widening; and he grips Antonio's arms tightly with his hands. "Wait… was she a very hot blonde lady? Was there a creepy looking bastard with blonde hair with her?"

"Si!" Antonio blinks in surprise. "But how did you know that? Are you psychic?"

"Shit!" Lovino hisses. "Where are they? Did you get away from them? Did they ask you anything? Did they take you anywhere?"

"Uhm…" Antonio frowns, his eyebrows furrowing; he wracks his brain before he gestures towards the crowd. "They walked over there a while ago for some reason. They didn't really ask me anything, but they kept mistaking me for someone else which was weird… And Bella took me here I guess, but nowhere else…" He tilts his head slightly. "I think I answered everything…"

Lovino can't help but feel a slight breath of relief enter his chest at the given information.

 _So he didn't even realize that he was the Antonio that they were talking about; and he still doesn't know about the famiglia business. Talk about fucking dense! But…_

"Forget those bastards." Lovino grumbles, jerking his head back in the general direction of his apartment. "Let's go back home."

"But Bella asked me to wait for her." Antonio smiles, earning a deep grimace from the Italian.

Before Lovino can respond, however, a business-looking woman approaches them from out of the crowd. Her hair is held in a tight bun; and a pair of square-rimmed glasses are perched on the edge of her nose. She comes to a stop in front of Antonio, and it is evident that the latter can tell that she is a very serious woman.

"Excuse me," the woman clips in an almost regal tone, "but do you happen to be the man who was playing that music earlier?"

— the woman has asked such a thing even though she can clearly see the guitar hanging off of Antonio's back.

"Si, I am." Toni blinks, turning to face her with a grin. "Why do you ask?"

"Well," the woman explains as she pushes up her sunglasses, "I happen to be a representative of Roderich Musical Industries, and —"

It is as if the woman's words are a spark to a flame, a catalyst for a chemical reaction, the first domino to fall.

The flame, the chemical reaction, the other dominoes? Those things are akin to the crowd gathered around them.

"Did she just say Roderich Musical Industries?"

"Is that man going to be recruited?"

"He's practically a star!"

"He's really handsome! He has it in him! Look at him!"

"Hey, hey, can I have your autograph for the future?"

"Yeah, yeah, you're autograph!"

Antonio laughs in nervous confusion as the space around him begins to shrink. The woman standing beside him is soon swallowed by the crowd — not before she gives several shouts of indignation, that is. He turns to Lovino for an explanation but sees that the man is utterly confused as well. The fact that crowd is slowly descending upon them does not help either of their confusions.

So, Lovino once again does something without thinking. He grabs Antonio's arm, and he begins running.

"L-Lovi?!"

The Italian ignores the Spaniard's shout of confusion and drags him along in his mad dash. They run up the dimly lit cobblestone streets and deep into the night.

"L-Lovi, slow down! Ahaha…."

Lovino does not slow his pace. Instead, he throws a glance over his shoulder to glare at the man. While he does so, he finds a horrifying sight lying behind him. Several persons from the crowd including the Roderich representative are tailing them from behind.

"What the actual fuck?! What's wrong with them?!"

Lovino increases his pace much to the Spaniard's apparent chagrin. At this point, the man is barely touching the ground. He is being dragged around like a rag doll.

Suddenly, the exhaustion of the day begins to wreak its toll on the Italian's body. His pace slows abruptly, and he comes to a halting, panting stop.

"G-God dammit!" He spits between breaths.

He doubles over and glances at Antonio — at Antonio's face, and then at Antonio's arm which he is still gripping tightly. With a reddening face, he releases the man from his hold.

At this point, he is too out of breath to shout angrily at the man ("This is all _your_ fucking fault!"). Instead, all he can do is watch as the handful of people from the crowd draw nearer and nearer. Grimacing, he pulls his hand away from the man and accepts his fate.

But then the unexpected happens.

Antonio reaches down and grabs the hand that Lovino has begun to pull away. Their fingers meet, spread apart, intertwine. A perfect fit.

"What the hell—"

Antonio grins brightly before laughing and breaking out into a run.

He does not run so fast as to leave Lovino dangling behind him; rather, his pace is easy and energetic. A hop and a step.

Lovino stares at the man incredulously. Tries to figure out what to say. Tries to figure out if he should break free from the man's grasp. But his mind is too muddled with heat and exhaustion to figure out anything at all.

And then Antonio looks back at him with the corners of lips twitching upwards. A laugh escapes his mouth. It's light, electric, long, and infectious — very infectious.

Invisible hands begin to tug at Lovino's own lips; and they reach down to tickle his stomach. He tries to fight it at first, but that only brings tears to his eyes. So he gives in and laughs. Laughs loudly and uncontrollably.

It's a clear and rich sound that causes Antonio to pause in _his_ own laughter. He cranes his neck again and studies the Italian's expression. His eyes trace the man's mouth, the man's watering eyes, the man's shaking body. And after this short pause, he throws his head back and laughs again. Increases his pace.

The night suddenly becomes clear, sharp, and filled with energy. It's as if it has suddenly become electrified — frozen over, even.

And so for a moment, as Lovino flies up the cobblestone streets hand-in-hand with the Spaniard, he forgets. He forgets that the man he is holding hands with is dangerous. He forgets that he himself is dangerous. He forgets how troubling his situation is. He forgets all of those things; and for a moment, they are just two ordinary men running into the night.

They run and they run — their shoes clip, clop against the worn down rock of the road — with Antonio in the lead. But that changes suddenly and abruptly. As they pass by a cross section in the stone path, Lovino jerks Antonio's body to the right; and together they go flying and laughing down the alleyway.

Lovino leads them down twists and turns of the backwater streets until finally they reach the apartment. They enter the building and scramble up several flights of stairs — never stopping for even a breath.

Their only brief solace comes when Lovino pauses by his apartment door to fumble for his keys. The keys are found; the brass slides into the lock; and the door swings open.

The two men fall forwards into the room in a panting, heaving mess. Antonio collapses onto his stomach, while Lovino falls on all fours.

Then there is just heavy panting and deep breaths.

Antonio lifts his head and turns to Lovino as his breathing evens. Their gazes meet.

Antonio chuckles tiredly, quietly; but his chuckle is like wood to a dying flame. Lovino mirrors it half-smiling, half-scowling and continues to mirror it until he is fully smiling.

Their laughter — they're laughing at how ridiculous their situation has become — floods the room.

Yes, they are just two ordinary men.

* * *

casa [Spanish]

home (noun) / a place where a person can never feel alone, a place to return to after a grueling day, a place Antonio and Lovino share

* * *

"L-Ludwig, help! There's something wrong with Lovino! He's laughing!"

— such a shout cuts Lovino's laughter short. His smile drops clean off of his face; and his rapidly beating heart feels as if a nail has just been run through it. Slowly, painfully, he turns his head towards the open door. Antonio, still chuckling ever so slightly, follows his gaze.

 _Fuck me._

Quivering by the doorway with a worried expression is Feliciano Vargas. Standing behind him and wearing a confused expression is Ludwig.

The air is thick and suffocating.

"Woah," Antonio blinks as he rises into a sitting position, "how come there are two Lovis?"

 _Fuck me._

Before Lovino can spew out angry words at either of the men, another figure appears panting at the doorway. Lovino recognizes the figure immediately, as does Feliciano. While the latter feels a short burst of joy at the sudden appearance, the former feels utter dread.

 _Fuck me._

"Hey, Nico!" Feliciano grins, throwing his arms around the panting man. "It's been so long! How are you doing?"

 _FUCK me._

"Mister Vargas?" Nico the transporter asks more so than greets. He blinks at Feliciano in confusion before he turns his eyes on Lovino — on the man sitting next to Lovino. And then, he screams.

…

Meanwhile, the Roderich Representative and a handful of others from the crowd are still scouring the streets. They are all panting and wheezing and coughing and dragging their feet along the ground.

They just don't understand. They just don't understand their current situation at all.

The representative doubles over and grips a bulging wallet tightly in her hands.

"We just… wanted to… return his… wallet…."

* * *

 **A/N:** wow, such a long chapter this time xD.

Anyways, thanks to all those who followed, favorited, and reviews! Your lovely reviews help me improve and give me motivation to write more so many thanks for that! Now excuse while I write up a six page progress report on my proposal that's due next week.


	5. Baccano

**My (False) Love**

005: Baccano

ruckus (n.) / a disturbance or commotion

* * *

At the same time as Nico, Feliciano, and Ludwig arrive at Lovino's apartment, the police department of the town receives a rather informal letter in the mail—

 _Hi,_

 _I'm Alfred F. Jones. You may have heard of me. I'm the head of Jones-William's PI Firm. I solved the Astley murder cases and put a lot of baddies in jail._

 _Anyways, my bro and I caught wind of your ongoing missing persons investigation. Antonio something or other, right? Well I'm willing to lend you a hand! Actually, I'm going to! We're headed to the country today! Actually, I wasn't really planning on writing a letter of "introduction" at all, but my friend Arthur and my brother nagged me or whatever. Said it'd be rude if we just dropped in. Talk about up tight. Am I right?  
_

 _Did you know that that Antonio guy is suspected of having mafia ties? I'll get to the bottom of that._

 _So… Could you get out everything you have on file about the case and prepare it for my brother and me? That'd be great. Thanks._

 _Also, my friend Arthur is interested in the case too, so could you give the guy a copy of the case files too?_

 _Thanks man,_

 _Alfred F. Jones_

…

Nico continues to scream and scream and scream. His cry resonates in the room and echoes out into the hall. It's a wonder how he hasn't keeled over yet.

 **I find it rude and disrespectful. Actually, it's almost laughable. Usually you're supposed to greet a new person with a handshake not a scream.**

 **Oh, I suppose that I should introduce myself before we move any further into these…. developments. I think you've already been acquainted with me well enough not to need a lengthy description of my personality. I** _ **am**_ **the one telling this story after all. The one who is observing it all. Ever since** _ **that**_ **first day at least.**

 **Well, what I mean to say is that you've seen me several times in the form of the voice at the back of Toni's head.**

 **Si, I am Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. The Conquistador, people call me. One of the greatest rivals of Arthur Kirkland, renown leader of one of the largest English mobs. Of course, he plays the innocent and gentlemanly card whenever he can. Uses the cover of "CEO of Albion Corp" as his cover. Dios mio, it's a company that markets multicultural cuisines! It's so obvious that it's a cover. My corporation makes sense compared to my personality unlike that nonsense.**

" **I've changed!" He once told me. "Those days of mine are over!" Right before he took out one of my branches.**

 **Ay, cheeky, lying puta!**

 **Almost as bad as this Lovino Vargas character. Si, this lying foul-mouthed brat who pushes me — "Toni" is what he has named me now — around like a spoiled brat. This brat who caused by current condition in the first place! But… even brats have their uses when they're trained…. I can see that much.**

 **Oh. Are you wondering how I'm able to tell you everything that's happening when I'm obviously not "myself" right now? I know you're wondering it. I can literally see the curiosity on your face.**

 **Okay then. Here it is. To be honest… I'm not so sure myself.**

 **If anything, I can compare it to an out-of-body experience. I can see everything that is happening, but I can not interact with that "everything". It's somewhat infuriating actually. Well, not "somewhat". It** _ **is**_ **infuriating. All I can do is try to give my body urges to do certain things.**

 **For example, earlier today I tried to urge my body to knee Jan in the gut after his disobedience, but all my body did was laugh. It was embarrassing. Humiliating.**

 **It's irritating.**

 **And then there's Bella… That chica… What was she thinking? She saw me but she didn't think to tell me — my body? Toni? — the truth. But why…?**

 **Well, that doesn't matter. Her betrayal does. But then again, she is one of my favorites, so I suppose I'll let her give me an explanation first. Once I figure a way back to my body that is. Or is just that I have to get Toni to remember? Ay, thinking about this is troubling...**

 **On another note, I tried to urge my body to body to take Vargas down during our escapade from the crowd, but do you know what my body did? My body grabbed his hand and ran. It's like my body does the opposite of what I tell it to do.**

 **The opposite, si?**

 **Perhaps I shall try that then. Later.**

 **Let's get back to the situation at hand, shall we? It's very amusing.**

Lovino Vargas, shaking uncontrollably (rage or fear?), rises to a stand at the center of his apartment. His eyebrows are furrowed together like he is angry, but his lips quiver like he is terrified. The two distinct expressions clash together and mix to bring forth a singular expression — absolute unhappiness.

"Nico?" Feliciano cries, rushing to the still screaming man to console him. "Nico, what's wrong?"

The man answers him with a high-pitched scream.

"Come on, Nico, calm down, alright?" The Italian continues, wrapping his arms around the man. He coaxingly rubs circles into the man's back. "Everything here is safe and nice! There's nothing scary here at all!"

Nico continues to scream.

It is then that Feliciano is gently pried away from the man by Ludwig who takes his place at Nico's side. The blonde grabs Nico's shoulders and shakes him roughly once, twice, thrice. When the screaming does not stop on the fourth attempt, he draws his firm hand right across the man's face—

— _**slap**_!

The screaming stops.

"Why the actual fuck are you here, Feli?!"

And more screaming — albeit from Lovino rather than Nico — begins.

"Why the fuck are _any_ of you here?!" Lovino continues, his mind racing in all directions at once. "You rude ass bastards can't even give me a call before you drop by — is that it?" He stammers, shaking his head and pointing towards the doorway — he tries not to look at Nico as he does so,"Get out of my house, dammit!"

No one moves.

There is silence. It's thick, and it's suffocating, but —

"It's not very nice to kick people out just after they've arrived, Lovi…" Antonio frowns as he rises to his feet; he motions from the doorway to the interior of the apartment in a welcoming gesture; and then he flashes a sunny smile. "Come in!"

"Stop welcoming people into my apartment, dammit." Lovino snaps at him in turn, forgetting both himself and his dire situation.

"Haha," Antonio laughs, "but it's _our_ apartment, si?"

Lovino recoils at the statement, but before he can even respond—

"Oh!" Feliciano exclaims, stepping over the threshold and rushing to the Spanish man's side. "You must be the new roommate my brother has been talking about!"

"Your _brother_?" Antonio blinks in confusion, before his smile brightens. "Oh! You must be the one who wears the aprons! The one Lovi's told me about! I'm Toni, Lovi's roommate… and maid, I guess." He begins to extend his hand outwards in greeting (for some reason it feels like a practiced gesture), but he is surprised by a kiss on both cheeks. He watches as the smiling Italian pulls away; and he laughs, "Dios mio! You look so much like Lovi, but you're nothing like him!"

"Heheh," Feliciano chuckles, "people say that a lot, but my brother and I are more alike than we are different!" He pauses, and then adds as if it merely an afterthought, "Ah, I'm Feliciano by the way!"

Lovino tries to ignore the uncomfortable churning sensation he feels at the pit of his stomach as he watches his brother and Antonio interact. He has a more pressing matter to tend to anyways. Scowling angrily, he storms towards the doorway, pushes Nico out over the threshold, and slams the door shut behind him.

Ludwig, Antonio, and Feliciano are left alone in awkward silence — well, it is just Ludwig who is left in the awkwardness. Antonio and Feliciano are busily babbling, laughing, and smiling at eachother. Birds of a feather they seem to be.

Ludwig clears his throat and approaches their conversation with an extended hand. Antonio and Feliciano turn towards him simultaneously. Feliciano's grin seems to brighten at his entrance into the conversation.

"Toni, this is Ludwig!" He sings, taking a step backwards and affectionately patting the blonde on the shoulder. "He's one of my roommates at the university!"

"Ah, I see." Antonio laughs as he takes Ludwig's extended hand (the man's handshake, Ludwig notes, is strong and business-like but his laugh is almost child-like — bright, musical, optimistic). "I knew you were German! I could tell by that serious look on your face!"

"Uh, ja," Ludwig coughs, clearing his throat and retracting his hand, " I _am_ German."

"He might look serious and like he can kill someone— and he can!" Feliciano pipes suddenly, enthusiastically. "But he's a very sweet person!"

"Really?" Antonio grins, placing his hands on his hips and cocking his head. "Just like Lovi then!"

Ludwig almost trips at the statement.

"You find Lovino 'sweet'?" He questions with a raised eyebrow.

"Hm?" Antonio turns to him questioningly, before his eyes brighten and he nods seriously. "Si, of course!"

He doesn't give any further explanation, and Ludwig doesn't ask for one. The German doesn't ask for one because he realizes something. He suddenly realizes that the Spanish man looks _very_ , very familiar. Not the 'I've seen you once before' familiar, but the 'I've seen you many times before' familiar. He tells the man such and inquires if they have ever met before.

"Hm?" Toni looks him up and down, before he shakes his head. "No, I don't think so... I've actually been mistaken for a lot of people today." He pauses, before he adds as an afterthought, "Oh, but I did lose my memories about a week ago, so maybe I _have_ seen you somewhere before!"

Ludwig nearly trips again. Such a cheery tone for such a blatantly dire situation. Before he can comment on the oddity, however, the door to the apartment goes flying open. The door's hinges _squeak!_ and the door itself slams against the wall behind it with a _crack!_

Lovino stands at the threshold of the door scowling deeply. He looks even more unhappy than before, but he no longer appears nervous.

Behind him stands Nico the Transporter. The man's eyes are wide — Ludwig can't help but picture him as deer in headlights —and his lips are trembling. Worse for the wear, to say the least. When the man's eyes fall on Toni's face, his skin pales four more shades.

"I-I," the man stutters and swallows, his voice becoming high pitched, "I'm Nico!" He extends both of his hands outwards in the Spaniard's general direction, "I-I've never seen you before in my life! It's nice to meet you for the first time ever!"

Antonio cocks his head at the man, before he smiles brightly at him. The sight of such an expression causes the man to recoil and become flustered.

"I...I…" Nico stutters, looking back and forth between Lovino, Feliciano, and Antonio. "I—"

"Just leave, dammit!" Lovino scowls.

Nico's hands scramble with invincible objects, before he stumbles backwards, glances at the door, and dashes out of the room with a high-pitched cry of "C-Ciao!"

Feliciano and Antonio wave at the man's departure. Lovino, on the other hand, does not pay the man's dramatic exit any heed. Instead, he approaches Feliciano with a nervous expression and jerks his dark head at him.

"Anyways, why the hell are you and the potato bastard here?" He questions, glancing at Antonio from the corner of his eye ( _Doesn't look like Feli or the potato bastard recognize the guy. Good_.). "I told you to fucking call whenever you wanted to drop by. Besides, you were here only a week ago."

"Well," Feliciano chuckles sheepishly, "we're on break right now actually! And I wanted to show Ludwig around the town!" He pauses, before he adds, "Besides, there's no place like home!"

"You didn't bring Kiku along?" Lovino asks, raising a thick brow. The way he asks the question makes it seem like he expected the man's arrival.

"Well," Feliciano hums, "he's in town, but he's doing something for a project of his, so he's staying somewhere else!" He pauses, before he adds in a worried tone, "Fratello, what were you and Nico talking about? It sounded pretty serious…"

"Just business, dammit." Lovino grimaces, waving him off. "None of _your_ business." When he registers his brother's unwavering expression, he scowls. "He just stopped by to tell me there was a meeting with… " He pauses, glancing at Antonio and then at Ludwig. ( _It's not like they'll know what it means_ , he thinks. ) "... the Pool tomorrow," Lovino finishes, before he glowers at his twin. "Like I said — none of your business anymore." It's the partial truth.

Feliciano's expression falls at the word "Pool".

"Que?" Antonio interjects curiously. "There's a pool in the town? I didn't know that!" He grabs and squeezes Lovino's shoulders excitedly. "We should go then, Lovi!"

"Trust me." Lovino scoffs."This isn't the kind of pool you want to be visiting."

 _It's chock full of people who kill for a living. People who'd probably kill you as soon as they saw you._

 **Oh. The "Pool".**

 **Let's just say that the Pool is not a place for children to swim. It's a group. A group that I am very well acquainted with.**

 **Hired assassins, street urchins, laughable hitmen — if anything, it's a** _ **pool**_ **of mismatched tontos. I've had numerous assassins and hitmen who were affiliated with the Pool come after me. Seeing as how I'm still alive, it's obvious that they were failures at their jobs.**

 **The Pool is more of a nuisance than anything else. Still, it's one of the things that I wish to make my own.  
**

"Is it run down or something?" Antonio questions with raised brows.

 **I guess my explanation was pretty much useless.**

"Something." Lovino grumbles back to him, before he returns his attention to his brother. "Seriously though, what are you doing here, Feli?"

"'Feli'?" he hears Antonio whisper behind him. "How cute!"

And then Lovino realizes how heavy and hot Antonio's hands feel on his shoulders.

The man's hand — Antonio's hand felt so firm and reliable in Lovino's own when they ran through the streets only minutes before.

Thump-thump. Thump.

The Italian's head spins.

"Get off of me, and stop smiling." Lovino grimaces, roughly shrugging the man's hands away before adding — "Why the hell do you find everything cute anyways? It's creepy!"

Before Antonio can laugh and offer a response, Feliciano yawns loudly and earns all the attention within the room. While he earns a scowl from his brother, he earns a sparkling and grand smile from his brother's roommate.

"Aw, are you tired, Feli?" Antonio cooes.

For some reason, the way the Spaniard smiles and calls his brother "Feli" rubs Lovino the wrong way. The latter feels almost betrayed by the man's actions, but he doesn't understand why.

"Jet lag." Ludwig answers for him. "It was a long flight." He pauses, looking uncertainly between Lovino and the man. "We were actually hoping that you'd let us stay for a couple of nights. All the reasonably-priced hotels in the area are booked for three months."

There is a beat of silence.

"What." Lovino raises his eyebrow thickly. He looks the German up and down and sticks out his chin at the man. "If you're willing to sleep out on the patio deck then fine, bastardo."

"Don't be rude, Lovi." Antonio chastises lightly, before thumbing the couch behind him. "You can take the couch."

"But _you_ sleep on the couch!" Lovino scowls.

"Oh…" Antonio falters slightly as if the thought never occurred to him. "You're right…"

"No problem, guys!" Feliciano chimes tiredly, almost lazily. "We can share beds!" He sways from side-to-side like he is about to collapse then and there.

"S-Share beds?!" Ludwig stutters, appearing flustered for the first time that night.

"My fratello and I can sleep together in his room since that's what we did before I moved out…" Feliciano explains, before he yawns and gestures tiredly towards the couch. "Ludwig and Antonio can share the couch!"

The German and the Spaniard blink at each other and then blink down at the couch. A cock of the head is misinterpreted as a shake of the head.

 _I thought so,_ Ludwing thinks _, Toni thinks this is an uncomfortable situation as well._

"I," Ludwig clears his throat, before he nods in the Spanish man's direction, "I don't think that's—"

He is cut off as the man gives him a firm pat on the back paired with a thumbs-up.

"It'll be a tight fit, but we'll make it work!" Antonio nods with a smile. "It's much better than sleeping outside on the patio, si?"

Ludwig can only stand in place with a gaping mouth.

"Oh!" Feliciano gasps, rubbing his eyes. "I forgot that you and Antonio are pretty big…"

' _Pretty big'…?_ Lovino thinks with a frown, before he allows his gaze to subtly drift towards the Spaniard's form. _Damn… he_ _ **is**_ _pretty big._

The curly-haired man stands a head or two higher than the Italian — almost as tall as Ludwig himself; and even with the baggy shirt covering his body, it is evident that the Spaniard is well-toned. Pretty big indeed.

For some reason, however, Lovino finds that he has not noticed such things about the man before. It has always been the man's eyes that Lovino noted first. Then the man's smile.

"Oh, I know!" Feliciano continues with a quiet hum. "We can do one big person and one small person per bed!" He points to the couch pleasantly. "Ludwig and I can take the couch, since we're used to sleeping in a close area back together in the dorms," — he pauses and points to the door that leads to Lovino's bedroom — "and you and Antonio can sleep together in your room, since you guys are used to being roommates!"

There is a pause.

Lovino and Ludwig exchange twitching looks; and for once in their lives, they come into an agreement with each other ( _this is the most idiotic idea ever!_ ), but—

— here Lovino finds himself standing in his bedroom with Antonio smiling behind him.

"It's _my_ fucking house…" Lovino grumbles.

He currently busies himself with building a great wall of pillows in-between what he has designated his side of the bed and Antonio's side of the bed.

 _Fuck me. I'm about to share a bed with an amnesiac capo. Fuck. I should just let him sleep on the floor. But he'll probably get sick and die or something._

"It's much livelier with those two here though, don't you think, Lovi?"

"Yeah, it's fucking sunshine and rainbows." Lovino scoffs. "And stop calling me — nevermind…"

A creak and then a shuffle resounds behind him. The two sounds are followed by a flutter — like flapping wings. A door has been opened; and a book is being flipped through.

Lovino pauses, turning his head at the familiar sound.

Antonio stands by the door of the Italian's open closet with an old, worn-out sketchbook held gingerly in his hand. He flips through the pages expressionlessly. His bright eyes seem to be swallowing what he sees on those thick manilla pages whole.

The Italian stares at the sight in confusion.

What the man holds in his hands is one of Lovino's treasures, as well as one of his greatest shames. His inferiority, his pride — those two contradictions are bound within the book lofted in the man's hands. And for someone to see such a thing of his….!

"Y-You _bastardo!_ "Lovino hisses, feeling needles begin to prick at his eyes and his cheeks and his pride. He stumbles over his own two feet in an attempt to storm over to the man's side and rip the book out of the man's hands before the man can see any more. "Don't go digging through people's s—"

He is cut off short as Antonio tears his gaze away from the sketchbook and smiles at him.

"Lovi, these are so good! You drew them, right?" The man praises him. "Why haven't you ever shown me these?"

The Italian gazes at the man incredulously. Takes another step forward and rips the sketchbook out of the man's hands.

"Don't you fuckin' lie to me." He stammers, even though he knows that the man is incapable of doing such a thing.

"I'm not lying, Lovino." Antonio responds, his expression becoming unfittingly serious. "Why would you think that I was lying to you?"

"Well, you haven't seen my brother's artwork yet, have you?" Lovino scowls, running his fingers along the edge of of the sketchbook. (He has forgotten how nice the pages feel against his skin) "He may be useless at getting his shit together, but he's good at art. His artwork is better than this shit. He's so good that he's got a scholarship for majoring in art at his university."

"I didn't realize that a piece of art could be 'better' than another piece of art." Antonio says, his smile slowly returning to his face. "No piece of artwork is comparable to another piece of artwork. It's like comparing a cat to a dog." He extends his hand outwards, before giving a reassuring nod.

Thump-thump. Thump.

Lovino tries to find hurtful words to say to the man, but such words do not come — the strange hammering inside of his chest is too distracting. So, left without much else to do, he wordlessly hands the man the sketchbook. Antonio takes the thing in hand and walks over to the edge of the bed. He sinks down on the mattress, motions for Lovino to sit next to him with a slight energetic jerk of his head, and begins to flip leisurely through the book. With much hesitance, the Italian joins him at his side. The bed creaks at his added weight.

Flip. Flip. Flip.

Lovino refuses to look at the man's expression, refuses to look at the sketches the man gazes at. He isn't too sure whether he does this to avoid humiliation or just simply to avoid looking at the man. He does not hold for long, however.

"Ah, I can see where you improved at!" The man laughs his attention-grabbing laugh.

Lovino peeks out of the corner of his eye at the drawing which the man refers to. And a strange feeling swells in his chest. It's an unfamiliar feeling… Perhaps… is it… pride…?

 _He actually thinks that these are good…?_

A small sketch of a bird with feathery wings is drawn into the page Antonio currently studies.

"Yeah, well," Lovino mutters, turning his head away again, "I was trying to get the texture of the wing just right on that one. I looked at a bunch of zoology books for reference. Still looks like shit."

"What are you talking about? It looks like it's about to fly right out of the page!" Antonio laughs.

 _He's gotta be_ —

Lovino peers at the man again and finds that the man's expression is earnest, amused, and pleased. He is thoroughly engrossed in the pictures drawn on the pages of the book. The Italian studies him for a moment, before he allows his gaze to drop down to the sketchbook as well.

Flip. Flip.

"You know, Lovi," Antonio says suddenly, abruptly, quietly with such a wide range of emotions in his voice that it sends Lovino's head spinning, "I feel like there's this need in people to be better than others in order to feel important. But why? Why do you need to be better than someone else to be important?" He pauses and laughs a strange laugh. "I just don't understand..."

The Italian studies the man with uncertainty. The sudden change in tone in the man's voice caught Lovino off guard — so off guard that he currently is unsure of how to proceed. Part of him is irritated by the fact that the man has said such tactless things that stray a little to close to him. Part of him wants to argue with the man. Instead, however—

"Philosophy doesn't suit you." He finally manages after a pause.

Antonio simply laughs that strange laugh again.

Flip. Flip.

The pages go flying.

There is a strange uncomfortableness in the air.

"Oh," Lovino mutters begrudgingly — quickly, almost worriedly — as he eyes one of the sketches and points to it, "I drew that one when I was in Venice five years ago."

The uncomfortableness dissipates.

"Wow!" Antonio chirps, impressed; the bright enthusiasm in his voice has returned, and Lovino can't help but feel relieved at the sound of it. "It's so pretty!"

Thump-thump. Thump.

Flip. Flip.

A sketch of the back of a young maiden.

Flip. Flip.

The outline of a boat floating lazily in a gondola.

Flip. Flip.

A pause and then—

— a laugh. A musical laugh. The sound stabs Lovino in the chest; and a feeling of betrayal begins to boil at the pit of his stomach — the man is making fun of one of his drawings, dammit! — but then his eyes fall onto the sketch that Antonio is laughing at.

A dozen small stick figures are drawn onto the page. One wears a crown. Another holds a tomato, another a sword, another a book. The one wearing a crown has an identifiable curl off the side of its head.

"I'm guessing this is you?" Antonio wipes a tear from his eye as he points to the crowned stick figure.

"I-I didn't draw that one!" Lovino snaps, before he scowls and contradicts himself: "I drew it when I was like ten, okay? "

"This is one of your best pieces yet." Antonio says seriously, turning to him. He winces and laughs as Lovino punches him in the arm. "It really is cute though!"

"You think literally everything is cute." Lovino raises a thin brow. "If I gave you a shriveled-up tomato, you'd probably think it's cute too."

"That would be pretty cute."

"You're stupid."

"That was mean…" Antonio pouts jokingly, before he points to another stick figure — the one that holds the tomato — on the page and grins. "Is this one supposed to be me?"

"What, are you stupid?" Lovino deadpans. "I didn't even know you back then." He rips the sketchbook out of the man's hands and studies the childish drawing with a frown. "I don't even remember drawing this one."

He hands the sketchbook back to Antonio who takes it back graciously and continues flipping through the thing. Lovino watches the man's expressions again in attempt to gauge what he thinks of the sketches. The Italian isn't certain whether the Spaniard's constant smile is a positive or a negative sign.

Flip. Flip.

Silence.

A long period of silence.

Lovino starts at the sudden quietness and watches as the smile drops from Antonio's face. His heart leaps in his chest at the sight of its disappearance.

 _Shit. I knew I shouldn't have let him even loo—_

His thought falls short as he witnesses the man's expression warp into a grimace — no, a wince.

Antonio's eyebrows furrow, his eyes narrow, and his lips pull into a thin line. A second later, he is cradling his bandaged head in his hand. His mind is ringing, his head spinning; and someone is whispering loudly at the back of his mind —

 **What do you think you're doing?!**

"Hey!" Lovino exclaims in surprise, grabbing the man's clenched hand and forcing it away from his grimacing face. "What the fuck's wrong with you?"

There is confusion and pain in the man's bright eyes.

Lovino tries to ignore how heavy the man's hand feels in his own and repeats his question word for word.

"Just a little headache." Antonio mumbles before he laughs.

"That was a big fucking reaction for a little headache." The Italian scowls. He observes the man closely, almost worriedly. "Did you… pull your stitches or something, dammit?"

Antonio shakes his head, before he glances down at the sketchbook again. He taps the page that he is on slowly.

"What's this picture of?" He asks.

Lovino studies the man for a couple more seconds ( _I'm not worried, dammit_ , he tries to convince himself), before he allows his gaze to fall down onto the page. His eyes soak up the charcoal sketching of a chandelier hanging over a grand table and a window opening up to a patio just behind it. And his expression becomes unreadable.

"That's my grandfather's old house."

"Your grandfather?" Antonio says more than asks. His expression becomes strange.

 **His expression matches mine.**

 **I'm not sure what** _ **that**_ **was.**

 **For a minute there when my body was looking at those pictures, I felt a strange sensation. It felt almost as if… I was being pulled back into my body…?**

 **Whatever it was, it needs to happen again. Completely. Fully.**

 **I can't stand waiting around here any longer.**

"Say, Lovi," Antonio says slowly, allowing his eyes to soak up the details of the charcoal sketch, "what were you feeling when you drew this?"

"What was I _feeling_?" Lovino scoffs, before he snorts. "Oh god. Don't tell me you're one of those modern artists who try to find deeper meaning in art! I wasn't feeling anything. I don't do feelings. I drew it 'cause I fucking wanted too."

"Aw, it's not bad to talk about your feelings, you know, Lovi." Antonio laughs as he side glances at the Italian.

"Whatever. I'm not a _**faggot**_ like you, bastardo..." Lovino grumbles with a scowl. "I don't need that shit in my life."

Thump-thump.

For some reason, as soon as the words — no, just that _singular_ word — escape from his mouth, his heart leaps in his chest; and he is left with a rather bitter taste on his tongue. He doesn't quite understand it. He knows he has said more hurtful things to the man in the past, but this time something seems…

He turns his head.

Antonio sits beside him wearing an expression that he has never seen him wear before. The man's bright eyes are wide, his eyebrows furrowed, and his lips pressed together in a small, thin line. The expression he wears is one of...

(Lovino can only stare at him with widened eyes—

— _What? I-I didn't think the guy was_ _ **actually**_...)

… pain **.**

The realization smacks the Italian hard in the face. And it dawns on him that, for the first time ever, his words have stung and hurt the Spanish man.

"Ay," Antonio laughs suddenly, abruptly, almost hollowly, "we should get to sleeping, si?"

Lovino stammers wordlessly. He watches as Antonio closes the sketchbook and hands it back to him. Watches as the man walks to the other side of the room and flicks off the lights. Watches the man's shadow move in the darkness and fall gently onto the left side of the bed. Watches the man's unmoving form for a very long time.

Finally and hesitantly, Lovino slides into his own side of the bed and waits. He doesn't know what he waits for but he waits nonetheless.

But there is only silence.

Thump-thump. Thump.

There is only silence for a very long time.

Lovino imagines that the Spanish man is snoozing away on the other side of the pillow fortress. He then finds himself imagining — no, _remembering_ — the man's hurt expression. He grimaces and grinds his teeth.

 _Why the hell am I feeling bad for? The guy's probably killed a whole crowd of people before without batting an eye._

 _Yeah, but he's not like that now, you asshole._

"I'm… sorry," he finds himself grumbling in a whisper as he buries himself in his blankets. "I'm sorry for calling you a faggo, dammit."

But there is not silence this time. Instead, there is a shifting sound — linen against linen.

Lovino turns just in time to see Antonio peel back the wall of pillows and peer down at him. The man's eyes are wide. Surprise is written clear as day on his face. Lovino can see that much even in the darkness.

"L-Lovi…" Antonio stutters in a whisper. "You actually…. apologized…?"

Lovino stares at the man incredulously.

A second later, said man is launched off the bed by a sky high kick. There is a loud thud as he collapses onto the floor in a tangled heap. Valiantly, he fights his blankets away and pulls himself up level to the mattress. His green eyes are wide, awed, and sparkling.

"You were awake the entire damned time?!" Lovino hisses in a harsh whisper. His foot is still high up in the air at this time.

"S-Si!" Antonio answers quickly, almost excitedly, before he casts a sheepish glance towards the floor. He laughs lightly and scratches at his cheek. "I was actually feeling kind of depressed after what you said and I couldn't sleep…"

Lovino wordlessly opens his mouth, before closing it and lowering his leg.

"But you apologized, Lovi!" The man presses as he literally brightens in the darkness. "I'm so proud of you!"

"What?!" Lovino hisses. "What are you — my father?"

"No, but I've always wanted to be one." Antonio replies seriously, before he chirps and sparkles again — "But you apologized, Lovi! This is a major character development!"

"What?!" Lovino hisses the word again and recoils; he feels his face burning red again. "I am not some damned book character, you bastard!" He leans forward to punch the man, but he pauses as he sees the man's already bright smile brighten even further.

"I feel better knowing that you pushed yourself to apologize for me." The Spanish man says warmly. "I know how you don't like expressing what you really feel for some reason, so the fact that you actually—"

The phrase is like a knife to the chest. Even though it is said oh so casually, it cuts through Lovino's walls and pierces something soft within his rib cage. It hurts because it is a phrase that strays oh so close to the truth.

"Shut up!" Lovino shouts — actually, literally _shouts_ this time — before he can stop himself. "Stop talking like you know shit about me."

 _Why the hell did I say that for?_

"But that's the thing Lovi…" Antonio replies without skipping a beat. "I really don't know that much about you… even though we're roommates." He tilts his head and studies the Italian in the darkness. "And I'd like to learn more about you."

Again, Lovino is tortured by the sensation of Antonio's hands in his. And his head spins like a top; and his heart begins to hammer rapidly in his chest; and he once again speaks without thinking—

"So you're gay, you bastard?"

When the question escapes from his mouth, Lovino can do nothing but mentally punch himself. Strangely enough, his answer is delivered in a cheery tone—

"Haha, actually, I'm not so sure myself. I think I am though."

Lovino does a double-take. Squints in the darkness. Studies Antonio. Really looks at him.

"What the hell do you mean you don't know?" The Italian frowns. "Do you like girls, guys, both, neither, or other?"

"I don't know," Antonio laughs, "I lost my memories, remember?"

"But that shouldn't affect whether or not your gay!" Lovino snaps back at him.

Antonio stares at him for a moment.

"Well, I think _you're_ beautiful, Lovino." He says slowly, calmly, almost naturally; before he tilts his head with an almost flirtatious and seductive smile. "Does that make me gay?"

Lovino stares at the man for a very long time. The man's words don't fit in his head — no, they don't fit at all. They don't make any sense. And since Lovino cannot comprehend those words, he can only wordlessly open and close his mouth like a fish. A very red fish.

"W-What the hell are you saying?!" Lovino finally manages after a ten minute pause as he scrambles backwards in his bed. "Why the fuck would you say that to me, you creepy bastard?! We barely even know each other! Sure, we spent a week seeing nothing but each other but fuck—!"

 _Not to mention that you're the fucking head of a famiglia that is causing_ _ **my**_ _famiglia — literally every famiglia in the country — trouble!_

"You don't have to stare at a piece of artwork for ten years to know that it's beautiful, Lovino." Antonio blinks at him, his eyes burning brightly in the darkness. "It just takes a glance to see something's physical beauty, a minute to take in the details that make it beautiful, and a little while longer to figure out _why_ you think it's beautiful." He pauses, before he adds, "You're an artist, Lovi, so you should know that."

Lovino has a hard time comprehending the man's words. Never in his life has he been called beautiful by another person before — not to mention by a man… no, by a capo! Sure, he's been called "cute" and "sexy" before, but never ever has he been called"beautiful".

He once again feels Antonio's hand in his own.

"Y-You better not like me or anything weird like that, you bastard." Lovino snaps, looking away from the man and trying to get that _feeling_ out of his chest. "Or this is going to get weird, and I'm going to kick your ass out of this house."

 _This is bad… This is bad…_

"But I do like you, Lovi. I know that much." Antonio smiles casually, causing Lovino's face to feel like it has literally caught on fire. "I like your hot and cold personality; I like how honest you are; I like your hair curl — although I don't really get why you never let me touch it; and well, I liked it when you laughed earlier, because you really do have a beautiful laugh—"

There it is again. "Beautiful".

At this point in time, Lovino can't even think of a proper response — let alone any response.

 _This can't be happening. It's only been a week. This isn't a fucking telenovela. There's no fucking way that this fucking guy is giving me a fucking love confession!_

"—I just know that I like you. I don't know how to put it into nice-sounding words though." Antonio finishes with a laugh, before his expression becomes contemplative. "But I'm not sure if I _love_ you… "

There's the word that Lovino has been dreading. His most hated word. Love. Heart. Amore—-

— _wait._

Lovino blinks, squints, recoils.

 _Did the bastard just say that he_ _ **wasn't**_ _sure…? What the_ _ **hell**_ _?!_

"I'm not sure why…" Antonio mumbles contemplatively. "I mean, love is such a complex thing, you know? And I don't really remember feeling love before, so I don't really know what it feels like. I don't have anything to compare it to either really — oh wait! Casa Y Aqua: Amor — that's a good example, right?" The man continues to ramble.

Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable.

Conflicting emotions bubble up inside the Italian's chest. The chaos of it all leaves Lovino uncertain about what he feels. Anger? Disbelief? Relief? Embarrassment? Insulted? _Hurt_?

How are you supposed to react when someone confesses that they're not sure whether they love you or not? How are you supposed to react when that someone is supposed to be a ruthless mob boss?

"A-Aren't you fucking embarrassed saying that?" Lovino scowls, scoffs, stutters, stumbles over his words, shakes his head. "A person usually keeps that gushy shit to themselves. And why the hell would you look at a shitty telenovela for information about love?! How the hell don't you feel embarrassed saying that? How _can_ you even say that?!"

Antonio stares at him in the darkness, before giving a simple shrug and laughing. The laugh sends Lovino's head spinning.

"Well, let me give it to you fucking straight. The reason why you don't know if you…" — there is a pause and a strain in Lovino's voice as he tries to say the word —" _love_ me is because there's no such damned thing as… love."

 _Yeah, that's right. Set the bastard straight._

He turns to Antonio and squints at him impassively in the darkness, before he says, "A person only acts like they love someone 'cause they want something from them. Companionship, a kiss, hot sex, making kids, profit — you name it. It's all prescribed in genetics. Hormones, genes, and all that shit. There's nothing _real_ there. It's not like your stupid telenovelas at all in the real world. There's no 'love at first sight', no 'long lost childhood love', and there's definitely no way a romance between an assassin named Esperanza and a guy named Enrique is going to work out! So don't get lovey-dovey, got it?"

 _Wait. What the hell am I even saying? I'm pulling this shit right out of my ass. Why the hell are we even talking about this? This is bull._

Even as Lovino thinks such a thing, he can't help but picture his father's cold gaze, indifferent and pitying gestures and looks, and his grandfather's disappearing back.

"I'm only doing nice things for you 'cause you clean my house, understand, cazzo?" he continues — he is no longer sure whether he is telling truths or lies at this point. "So, don't take it as anything else, got it? Because like everyone else in the world, I'm only being nice 'cause I want something from you, got it?"

Antonio is gazing at him intently with furrowed eyebrows. His attention is sharply focused — so sharply focused that Lovino feels like he is being lacerated just by being under such attention. But then Antonio's gaze softens, and he lets out a sigh.

"Lovi, I'm not going to pretend that I understood everything that you were trying to get across, and I'm not going to tell you that you're wrong either because I don't know about your history or what could've caused you to think that way." He says, resting his chin on his folded hands on the bed. "But I think you're looking at it from a bad angle."

There is a short pause. A pause too short for Lovino to interrupt him.

"Feliciano loves you doesn't he?" Antonio asks.

"Only 'cause we're brothers and we're stuck together; and he needs me to look after his ass." Lovino grumbles. "If the situation were different, he'd ditch my ass in a second. He's already practically ditching my ass for that potato bastard."

"Potato bastardo?" Antonio frowns, before his eyes brighten in realization. "Oh! You mean Ludwig!" He sighs and tilts his head slightly. "It's not very nice of you to call him that. He seems like a nice and respectable man, although I _do_ think he should smile a bit more..."

"Respectable, my ass!" Lovino scoffs. "The only respectable thing he's done is restrain himself from shoving a potato down his throat for five whole minutes. A fuckin' world record!"

"That's not very nice…" Antonio mumbles, before he shakes his head and frowns again. "Hey! You distracted me from talking about your feelings, didn't you?"

"You distracted yourself." Lovino scoffs, internally cursing the man's sudden sharpness. "And we're not talking about _feelings_! We're talking about _philosophy_. Do you even know what that word means?"

" _Anyways_ , Lovi, I doubt Feliciano would ever do that to you." The Spaniard continues, brushing away the insult and absentmindedly flicking a dark curl away from his face. "I feel like you have too little faith in how much people care about you."

"What?" Lovino rolls his eyes. "Are you going to say that you care or something? As soon as you get your memories back, you won't feel the same way — trust me."

 _I still don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to do then. Kill the guy? Shit. I have to. There's no other way. Shit, but…_

"What makes you think that?"

 _Because you were trying to kill me before I shot you in the head._

"Because you were a shitty person before you lost your memories, bastardo."

 **Rude.**

 _Kinda accurate._

"Then it's simple." Antonio hums, clapping his hands together. "I just won't regain my memories."

 _What the fuck._

 **What the fuck.**

"You can't just _not_ regain your memories!" Lovino shouts incredulously.

"Why not…?"

"That's not how it fucking works!"

"Ay," Antonio smiles in an almost knowledgeable manner, "but you never know until you try!"

"Ugh!" Lovino scowls, falling back onto his bed. "You're so stupid and dense — I'm not going to even try to listen or to argue with you!"

But Lovino does listen. He listens as Antonio shifts himself back onto the bed. He listens as a yawn escapes from the man's lips. He listens to the sound of crinkling linen as the man lays down on the bed. He listens to the hesitant silence following the man's stillness.

Soon, the only sounds Lovino can hear are Antonio's steady breathing and —

Thump-thump. Thump.

— his _own_ rapid heartbeat.

Even though the man is no longer playing the guitar, Lovino feels his heart still thumping to its thrums. He realizes that it has been doing so the entire evening. The silence of the night has simply made it noticeable to the Italian. But the revelation does not cause relief for him. It raises alarms and concerns.

 _What the…. What the hell is going on?_

Thump-thump. Thump. Thump-thump.

Suddenly Lovino finds that the fortress of pillows between him and the Spaniard seems both too small and too big at the same time.

 _Shit. Am I dying? Am I having a heart-attack?!_

Thump-thump. Thump. Thump-thump.

His entire body suddenly burns with heat; and Lovino comes to a stunning conclusion: the heat source seems to be Antonio himself.

 _I must have a fucking fever or something from chasing this guy around all day._

Then, Lovino once again is tortured by it — the sensation of Antonio's hand holding his.

 _Fuck, he's so annoying! I hate him! Fuck! I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him so much—_

"What do you mean you don't know if you're gay for me?!" Lovino shouts abruptly, shooting up in the bed and peering over the fortress to glare at the man. "You either love me or you don't—"

He trails off as he registers the man's sleeping form. Scowling and mumbling "fucking bastardo" to himself at the sight, he studies the man's face. Traces the man's features with his eyes.

 _Only a glance, huh?_

The Spaniard's eyebrows furrow suddenly, and his pleasant lips begin to turn downwards. Lovino mimics his expression, before he begins to reach over to smooth down the bump in-between the man's eyebrows. He, however, catches himself halfway through the gesture and recoils as if he has been stung.

 _What the fuck was I even trying to do?!_

Thump-thump. Thump. Thump-thump. Thump. Thump-thump. Thump. Thump-thump. Thump. Thump-thump. Thump. Thump-thump. Thump. Thump-thump. Thump. Thump-thump. Thump. Thump-thump. Thump. Thump-thump. Thump. Thump-thump. Thump. Thump-thump. Thump. Thump-thump. Thump. Thump-thump. Thump. Thump-thump.

And then—

 _ **Thump**_. Thump-thump. **_Thump_**. Thump-thump. _**Thump.**_ Thump-thump. _ **Thump.**_ Thump-thump. Thump. Thump-thump. Thump. Thump-thump. Thump. Thump-thump. Thump. Thump-thump. Thump. Thump-thump. Thump. Thump-thump. Thump. Thump-thump. _**Thump**_. Thump-thump. Thump. Thump-thump. Thump. Thump-thump. Thump. _**Thump-thump.**_

—the realization punches Lovino squarely in the chest.

 _No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, **NO**!_

Lovino cups his burning face in his hands and rapidly shakes his head.

 _This can't be_ _ **happening**_ _!_

Lovino slams his back back onto the bed, covers his hands with his mouth, and let's out a muffled scream.

 _This isn't a fucking telenovela! I've only known this guy for a week! I don't even think I swing that way! And the guy is a fucking mob boss! We tried to kill each other seven days ago! This can't be real! It'd be absolutely pathetic if I_ —

He bites his lips and shakes his head. Nods to himself reassuringly.

 _Yeah, there's no fucking way. I must just be feeling bad for him 'cause of what happened. Yeah, sympathy. That's all it is. Even though I don't do sympathy. That's got to be it!  
_

He peers at the area where the man lies out of the corner of his eye as if to test the hypothesis; and he once again feels his heart leap out of his chest.

 _No. No no. No. No._

 _This has to be some sort of sick joke._

 _I need to clear my head. Yeah, that's it. Clear my head. Think of something else._

But his mind keeps straggling back to the situation at hand. To Antonio Fernandez Carriedo who lay in his bed. To the man's smile, to his weird quirky humor, to his laugh, to his tactlessness, to his kind and honest praising words, to how he appeared playing his guitar at the front of the fountain, to his callused hand that seemed to fit so perfectly in Lovino's own hand.

 _No. Fucking. Way._

 _I —?_

 _Shut up. Stop. Don't you dare think it!_

So Lovino does not think it. Instead, he internally screams.

...

 **Day 8, note 58: I've given up trying to get my body to strangle Lovino in his sleep.**

 **I'm now testing my telekinetic abilities by trying to smother that Italian with his blankets with my mind. So far it's another futile effort.**

 **I really dislike staying in this state. My pride hurts. My work is being halted. My patience tested. And I'm beginning to lose my patience.**

 **I try to tell myself that I am —Toni is, I mean — bound to remember everything eventually. That someone from the famiglia is bound to find me. But that doesn't appear to be happening any time soon. Especially after that dramatic declaration — "then I just won't regain my memories!"**

 **Which reminds me.**

 **That German said that I looked familiar, didn't he? He looked very familiar to me too, although I can't place my finger on it…. I feel like it's very obvious, but—**

 **Que? What's this?**

 **That Lovino brat is still awake.**

 **He's red-faced, buried under his blankets, and whispering to himself like a madman.**

 **Did my cursing actually work?**

 **Oh, now he's sitting up and smothering himself with his own pillow.**

 **Maybe my curse did actually work. I'll have to thank Senor Kirkland for his advice on curses— after I make that puta kneel at my feet, that is.**

 **Ay... Look at that. Now the brat is slamming his head against the bedpost. Maybe he'll give himself a concussion. Here's to hoping.**

 **It's a wonder why my body hasn't woken up yet.**

* * *

Day 9

The small town receives a new guest at the crack of dawn. The visitor is not from the province. He is not even from the country. His skin is too fair, his hair too light, his eyes too blue. A foreigner.

He glides through the backwater alleyways, appraises the architecture, and checks into the most expensive hotel in the area. He pays in full up front. The hotel manager is very pleased to say the least and offers the man a tour of the town. His offer is accepted.

When the two men pass by the town square, they are stopped by an old woman holding a wallet. She opens up the thin wallet and points to a picture of a young man that is tucked away in the sleeve. She asks them if they have seen such a man before. The foreigner doesn't answer her. Instead, he showers her with beautiful, yet melancholy-laced words and offers her a sum of money in exchange for the wallet. She declines the money, but gives him the requested object.

The hotel manager asks the foreigner at the very end of the day why he has come to such an insignificant town. The Frenchman answers him with a soft sigh,

"Ah, mon ami, I am looking for a dear friend of mine."

* * *

baccano [italian]

ruckus (noun) / the feeling inside Lovino's mind and chest whenever Antonio is near; what the disappearance of Antonio Fernandez Carriedo is causing

* * *

 **A/N:** And now since we've got the relationships more or less established, it's time to delve into some mafia business!

Sorry for the late chapter by the way... I had a bio exam on Monday which was a pain, and I have a Chem quiz Friday, and a Stats quiz Thursday, and a Stats exam next Thursday, and a Chemistry Exam Friday... /cries. I should be studying but here I am... making bad life choices.

Also, I made a title change as you can see xD. I thought it'd fit better.

Anyways, thanks to all those who read, followed, and favorited! Shout out to rukisea, Skitp, SpindeWink, Faller's Wings, Guest, and RedPhoenix15 who reviewed! A big shout out to rukisea because your review made me laugh and blush like an idiot. OTL

I hope you guys continue to read, follow, favorite, and review! o u o


	6. Piscina

**My (False) Love**

006: Piscina

pool (n.) / a group of people available for work when required or considered as a resource; an artificial pool for swimming

* * *

Feliciano Vargas knows that he is not a very bright individual. He knows this very well. That is why when his grandfather died and left him the famiglia he did not step up as camorra. He handed the title to someone else instead. He knew and still knows very well that he was not fit for such a job.

Feliciano Vargas knows that he also thinks with his heart rather than his brain. That is why when he handed the title of camorra of the famiglia to someone else he did not hand it to his blood brother. No, at the time he wanted his brother to be free from such a burden. But his actions seemed to only make his brother upset, angry then.

Even to this day, however, Feliciano does not regret his decision. This much he knows.

What Feliciano Vargas does not know is that he is very observant. Observant of people. Observant of changes in people. For example, he notices a change in his brother .

On the first morning of being back in his old home, Feliciano greets the late morning with a lazy yawn. He blinks down at the empty space on the couch next to him and frowns.

"Ludwig…?" He mumbles, rising from the couch and stumbling into the kitchen.

There he finds the German sitting at the table and pleasantly sipping a cup of coffee. Ludwig is a morning person so seeing him sitting there does not surprise the Italian. What surprises the Italian is the other person who occupies the kitchen. His brother.

Lovino Vargas darts heatedly around the bustling kitchen and tends to a multitude of items that litter the kitchen stove. A boiling pot of pasta, a bubbling stew of red sauce, and what appears to be a bowl of green soup.

Now, Feliciano is very aware that his brother is quite skilled at cooking. He is also very aware of the fact, however, that his brother rarely ever cooks. Not since…

"Lovi?" Comes a voice from behind Feliciano, causing him to jump. "Dios mio, you're up early, Lovi!"

There is a pause.

Feliciano watches as his brother stares heated daggers at the boiling pot of pasta. He watches as his brother's face burns a deep shade of red. And he watches as his brother turns and chucks the wooden spoon he holds in his hands at the Spanish man.

The object misses its target, thus Lovino deploys his second best weapon — his mouth.

"I couldn't sleep 'cause you were fuckin' snoring all night." Lovino half-grumbles, half-shouts, pointing an accusatory finger at noone in particular. "So yeah. I decided to get up and make some food. But only to show you what real food tastes like, dammit. You're a pretty shitty cook for a maid."

 **I would just like to interject that the snoring thing is a lie. My body was peacefully and quietly sleeping the entire night. That brat, on the other hand, was up all night muttering to himself like a crazy man.**

Feliciano prepares to run over to his brother's side to console him like he always does, but he finds that Antonio has beat him to it.

In a second, Antonio is at Lovino's side. He showers the Italian in musical laughs and cheerful apologizes, before he offers his assistance in the cooking.

"Hell no." Lovino snaps, grabbing a chopping board and rapidly dicing an onion head into tiny pieces on it with a large knife. "You'll just ruin it."

"Aw, I thought you said that my food was beginning to taste better yesterday." Antonio sighs, his expression still bright despite the insult.

"I just said that it was less salty than before." Lovino grumbles in response. He averts his gaze away from the Spaniard. "Now go away so I can actually get shit done."

"But I want to watch you cook, Lovi!" The Spanish man chimes, eyes sparkling.

Lovino simply scowls in response and lets out a slew of curses. Even so, the man sticks by the Italian's side. The gaze Antonio fixes upon Lovino — or so Feliciano finds — is absolutely smothering, attentive, _affectionate_?

Feliciano tilts his head at the sight.

Tapping his chin, he slides into a seat next to where the coffee-sipping German sits and taps the man lightly. Ludwig grunts in response and raises an eyebrow. There are bags under his eyes. He has not slept too well either.

"Hey, Ludwig," Feliciano whispers, "don't you think that Lovino is acting kinda… weird…?"

"Weird?" Ludwig whispers back to him with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah, like weird weird." Feliciano nods vigorously.

"Feliciano…" Ludwig sighs, rubbing his eyes. "I don't know what you mean by 'weird weird'."

The light-haired Italian swivels his head around to try and explain himself, but he stops as he notices the German's tired eyes.

"Ludwig, you look so tired!" The younger man gasps. "Did you not sleep good last night either?"

"I-I slept fine." Ludwig lies in a clipped tone.

(In reality, he slept stiffly the night before because he did not want to disturb the sleeping Italian who laid beside him.)

"Anyways." Ludwig clears his throat. "What makes you think that Lovino is acting strange?"

"He's not that grumpy. I mean, he's still grumpy but not _super_ grumpy." Feliciano responds. "I thought he'd be super grumpy since we dropped by all of a sudden but he's…"

Ludwig follows Feliciano's gaze.

Lovino and Antonio crowd together in front of the stove. Once in awhile, the Spaniard points to an ingredient and asks what it is; and Lovino begrudgingly answers him. Musical laughs are littered throughout. Every time the man laughs, however, the Italian's face glows a bright red and he quickly retaliates in curses. There is never any physical retaliation, however. It is almost as if the Italian is avoiding Antonio's touch.

"Maybe Antonio is a good influence on Lovino." Ludwig suggests. "I do see what you mean though."

"I feel like it's something else …"

…

When breakfast is done cooking, Antonio and Lovino serve food to the kitchen table. Well, it is Antonio who serves the food. Lovino, on the other hand, grumbles to himself as he watches the man bustle back and forth:

"Serve yourselves, dammit! Your arms aren't broken, are they? Stop serving them, Toni!"

"Ay, but I've got to be nice to my roommate's guests as a part-time maid, si?" the man laughs in response.

 **I can't believe those words just came out of my mouth. How humiliating! When I get my hands on that Vargas puta…**

Antonio does not hear the anger in the voice that whispers at the back of his mind.

Once everything and everyone is situated, the dining begins.

Ludwig finds the food absolutely delicious. Almost on par with Feliciano's cooking. Almost. He compliments Lovino, but he receives a dark and biting glare followed by the middle finger in response.

"Don't be rude, Lovi." Antonio hums, before his expression brightens and he tries the food himself.

Feliciano watches as Lovino watches Antonio slurp the noodles into his mouth.

As soon as the food contacts man's tongue, the man's already bright expression brightens even more. It's almost blinding. His eyes widen and twinkle, before he shoves another spoonful of noodles into his mouth.

"It's delicioso, Lovi! I don't think I've ever tasted anything this good before!"

As soon as those words escape from Antonio's mouth, Lovino's own expression brightens ever so slightly — almost unnoticeably. Pride flashes in his eyes, and the corners of his lips twitch upwards into a semblance of a smile. But then, almost as if he catches himself (doing something utterly and horrendously awful), he shakes his head and scowls intensely.

"Well don't get used to it!" He snaps. "You're going to start cooking again tomorrow!"

…

Feliciano notices it again when night comes around.

At Toni's insistence, they all gather around the television and squeeze awkwardly onto the couch to catch a showing of Casa Y Aqua: Amor, Quatro. Although Feliciano is absolutely ecstatic to see what all the buzz about the show is, he is distracted from watching it by the interactions between his brother and his brother's roommate.

Feliciano sits next to his brother on the sofa, and together they are sandwiched in between Ludwig and Antonio. However, Feliciano feels as if he himself is the only one being sandwiched because — well — Lovino keeps pressing up against him, jabbing his elbow into his rib cage. It's almost as if the man is trying to scramble away from something on his opposite side. But the only thing there, Feliciano realizes, is Toni.

Feliciano is used to close contact with his brother, however, so he does not complain. Ludwig, on the other hand, is not used to such close contact with Feliciano — despite the fact that they were back-to-back sleeping the previous night.

"Lovino, could you please move over a littl?" Ludwig asks politely as he can. He has always been aware of the Italian's strange disliking for him. Their relationship is probably completely unsalvageable at his point, or so he figures; but, even so, he still hopes to improve their relationship — even if it is only by so much. "There isn't much space over here for Feliciano and me."

Lovino's head perks up at the question; and he side glances at Antonio, before he frowns deeply and jerks his head towards the floorboards.

"If it's not enough room for you, sit on the damn floor." He says blithely.

"There's so much room over here though, Lovi!" Antonio laughs as if the entire situation is ridiculous as he gestures to the gap in between them. "You can come closer to me you know? I promise I don't have anything contagious."

Lovino opens his mouth and then closes it. His face begins to burn a bright shade of red.

"I-I just don't want to catch your _stupidity_ , dammit!"

Another strange occurrence that Feliciano notes.

The swearing.

Now, Feliciano is very aware of the fact that his brother has a dirty mouth, but he is also aware of the fact that there is a distinct difference between his brother's "casual" swearing and his "emotional" swearing. Casual towards friends, famiglia — he never swears in front of women he finds attractive, nor does he swear in front of new acquaintances — and emotional towards people he feels strongly about. Needless to say Lovino swears emotionally at Ludwig (Feliciano wonders if he will ever let _that_ go.). Emotionally in a "burning dislike" kind of sense. Feliciano can tell that the swears directed towards Antonio are "emotional" as well — but not the kind of "emotional" that is directed at Ludwig. If only he can wrap his head around it…

"Ay, Lovi," Antonio laughs again, the insult seeming to not even phase him a bit, "but you're so smart that even a little dosage of stupidity wouldn't phase you in the least bit."

 **He insulted your intelligence and you're praising him? You should be punishing him!**

Feliciano watches as Lovino's eyes widen, watches as his cheeks flush an even deeper shade of red.

Before Feliciano can interject a peaceful remedy to the problem or draw his brother back into private to ask about his strange behavior, a loud booming sound resounds from the television. A gunshot. It causes Feliciano to shout in a mixture of fear and surprise — _another hitman, but how?!_ he briefly thinks — and, after a brief passing moment, he launches himself at Ludwig and wraps the man in a deathly tight hug. Ludwig accepts the gesture — but only because he cannot do much else — and shouts loudly in response. All confusion is cleared up however, by a horrified shout—

"Dios mio, Lovi! Enrique just shot Tulio! This is the moment, Roma!"

Feliciano slowly untangles himself from Ludwig who angrily shouts at him to "behave himself". The German then asks in a tone that almost resembles concern why in the world the Italian had been so startled by a sound effect in the first place. But Feliciano is too distracted by those who sit on the other side of him to even remotely think of an answer. Soon, Ludwig becomes distracted by that pair as well.

Antonio exclaims and shouts words in Spanish with fervor as he points at the screen with one hand and grips and shakes Lovino's shoulder with the other. Lovino surprisingly does not seem to be phased by the contact unlike before. Maybe this is because the Italian is also encaptured by what is on the screen.

"That dick!" Lovino swears loudly. "What a fucking bastard!"

" Lovi, look at Esperanza's face!"

"Serves the bitch right!"

Feliciano can only stare in confusion at the expression of pure excitement that has taken over his brother's face. He watches as his brother's expression morphs from excitement to surprise to shock to horror to indignation. It's such a wild range of emotions — almost as wild as Antonio's shouts to the television — and they continue even after the telenovela has drawn to an end.

Lovino and Antonio heatedly discuss the happenings of the episode as the credits start to roll; and only when the former realizes that he is the center of attention does the wildness of the emotions come to an end. In turn, Lovino scowls brightly, swears with a redenned face, and repeatedly emphasizes how shitty he thinks the show is. Antonio simply watches and listens to him with a smile.

 _Ohhh. So he's…._ Feliciano realizes with widening eyes. _Porca troia!_

* * *

Day 11

In the middle of the week, a cab pulls into the town square. A very expensive-looking cab. Four figures step out from the vehicle and out onto the cobblestone plaza. Those walking through the plaza eye them curiously.

Blonde.

All of them are blonde.

Foreigners.

"I booked a hotel a couple of blocks away from here." One explains in slightly accented English. "I told the manager that I would drop by the pay in full at 3 o'clock today, so—

"Alright, Kirky, you do whatever you need to, dude!" Another shouts over him; the shouting man slings an arm over the third member of the party. "Mattie and I are gonna check this place out!"

"U-Uhm…" The one designated as 'Mattie' stutters uncertainly.

"Well if you're going to go fooling around, Alfred," the first one to have spoken sighs, grumbles, "at least take Peter with you."

"What?" Alfred groans in response. "Dude, I came here to sightsee and be a super cop — not babysit! Why did you even bring your cousin along with you anyways?"

"Like I said before — obviously you weren't listening," the first sighs disapprovingly, "it's for business matters."

"Hey!" The shortest member of the quadrad shouts angrily. Unlike the other three, he is not an adult nor a young adult not even a teenager. He is only a child — no older than ten or eleven. "I can hear what you're saying!"

"Yeah, yeah…" Alfred waves the child off and pats him indifferently on the head. "Just don't be bratty and childish, okay? That's not cool."

"I'll have you know that I am very mature for my age!" The child, Peter, huffs with indignation. But no one really heeds his statement, nor does anyone act like they've even heard him. He realizes this fact and becomes even more indignant. Once again, he is ignored.

After another brief exchange, the group splits into two and goes opposite ways.

* * *

Day 12

Antonio finds Feliciano absolutely adorable.

The young Italian is sweet, innocent, cheerful, always smiling… almost the complete opposite of his brother.

It is easy for Antonio to make Feliciano laugh. Lovino is an entirely different story. And Antonio finds it troubling that while he can get Feliciano to burst out into giggles without much effort, he cannot even get a semblance of a smile out of Lovino. The feeling he gets when he mulls the matter over makes something in his chest twist in weird and uncomfortable angles. But that uncomfortableness fuels his determination — his determination to make Lovino laugh just like he did that night several days ago.

 _It was such a nice laugh_ , Antonio thinks to himself sometimes. _Ay, he was so cute…_

That aside, as days pass by, Feliciano and Antonio develop an affectionate relationship.

"Hey, Toni," Feliciano says one day when Ludwig and Lovino are momentarily out of the house — the former is out putting mail in the outbox while the latter is buying groceries, "do you like my brother?"

The Spanish man, adorned in one of Feliciano's aprons, is vacuuming the living room with a hum when the question is asked. He turns the buzzing machine off and faces the Italian with a smile.

"Well, of course I do!" He laughs in response. "Lovino is great!" He pauses, before he adds jokingly, "I like you too, Feli, so no need to feel jealous, si?"

Feliciano chuckles bashfully, before he realizes that he has asked the wrong question.

"Wait… Toni, I mean," Feliciano tries again as he blinks and tilts his head, "do you _like_ like my brother? Do you, you know, love him?"

It's an innocent yet extremely prying question. Antonio only notes the innocence of it which he notes as "cute".

 **Que. Is he serious.**

 **I don't like where this Feliciano character is taking this.**

Antonio pauses, puts the vacuum on its feet, and walks over to the couch where Feliciano sits. He sinks down on the thing and laughs—

"How funny! Lovi and I discussed this thing a couple nights ago!" He pauses, his expression becoming contemplative, before he says, "I don't know actually…"

"Huh? You don't know?" Feliciano repeats curiously as he tilts his head. He is somewhat curious about what the man meant he said he discussed the matter with Lovino, but he brushes the question aside for a more pressing matter. "I'm sure you can figure it out, if you think hard on it!"

"Ay," Antonio sighs dejectedly while still maintaining his bright smile, "but I have. I'm not sure what love feels like though. I don't remember… I mean… I've seen it in telenovelas, but Lovi tells me that that's not what love really is like…"

 **That's right. You don't love the brat. You hate him.**

At the word "remember", Feliciano's eyes flicker up towards the bandages that are wrapped around the man's head. They are white, pristine, clean. Freshly changed.

The Italian recalls seeing his brother change the man's bandages the previous night.

It was by pure accident. At the time, he was in search of an old photo album that he wanted to show Ludwig. He thought then that the album might've been stowed away in the master bedroom closet so he went skipping to his brother's room. The door to the bedroom was slightly ajar and, remembering his friend Kiku's speech about politeness and manners, prepared to knock before he entered. Midway through the action, he caught a glimpse of what lay within the room; and the glimpse caused him to stop short.

Antonio and Lovino were sitting on the edge of the bed within the room. They were only a hair away from each other — so close that even Feliciano could feel the ghost's touch of their skins against each other. Antonio sat with his head tilted towards the Italian, while the latter carefully, gingerly cleaned the man's scarred temple. (They were so close, and yet Lovino was not recoiling away from the man as he had done so before)

Lovino was so gentle then. Feliciano did not think he had had ever seen his brother so gentle before — not since…

Antonio winced slightly as the edges of Lovino's fingertips trailed against the edges of his scar. The small and almost unnoticeable action caused Lovino to start and mirror the wince. He then mumbled something under his breath. Something almost inaudible. Something almost foreign.

"Tanto…"

 _Sorry_.

Feliciano could not believe his ears nor his eyes. No, it was not that he did not believe… He was simply so shocked that the feeling resembled disbelief.

"Ay, it's okay, Lovi." Antonio smiled pleasantly. His eyes seemed to trace the lines on the Italian's face and smooth them out altogether. "You're trying your best."

"Well, I still fucked up." Lovino grimaced, admitted. "So accept my damned apology, alright? It's probably the only time you'll hear an apology from me."

"Alright then." Antonio raised a quirky eyebrow. "I'll cherish this apology from me to you — ah, I mean from _you_ to _me_."

Feliciano watched as Lovino bit down the rising corners of his lips.

"That doesn't even make any sense." Lovino finally scowled, reaching down to pick up a roll of gauze that was placed on the bed. "Did you get that line from another shitty telenovela?"

"Si." Antonio admitted with no embarrassment whatsoever. "I just really wanted to use the line. And… well, it seemed like a good moment to use it."

"Along with no fucking tact," Lovino grumbled, beginning the process of bandaging the man's head; once again, his motions were gentle, careful, "you don't know how to read the damn atmosphere either."

"I do admit that I'm not very good with those things…" Antonio sighed, lowering his head slightly so that Lovino could get a better angle; he studied Lovino's rising and falling chest. "But that's why I have you to tell me, si?"

The Italian froze as the statement was said. His eyes widened a fraction of an inch, before his face began to burn a characteristic shade of red. Embarrassment and confusion were clear on the Italian's face, but… Feliciano — for a moment at least — thought he saw _happiness_ there as well?

Antonio frowned a rare frown at the Italian's motionless and began to raise his head to assess the situation. Before he could even lift his head enough to register Lovino's face however, the latter scowled brightly and forcefully shoved the man's head down again.

"K-Keep your fucking head down!" Lovino stuttered, shouted. "I can't focus on wrapping your empty head up if you keep showing me your shitty face!"

There it was again. The emotional swearing.

It received only a light chuckle in response.

Feliciano retracted himself from the doorway then and returned to Ludwig empty handed. They talked and whispered quietly to each other about the present and future instead of flipping through pictures of the past. Feliciano did not mind it then at all.

The memory of that night still burns intensely in Feliciano's mind. The freshly-wrapped bandages around Antonio's head are a remnant of it.

"Hm…" Feliciano murmurs as he taps his chin contemplatively, before his face brightens. "Well, I'm sure we can help you figure it out!"

Antonio's dark head perks up. "Que? Really?"

"Yeah, no problem!" Feliciano nods, before he pauses in contemplation once more. "Let's see... Oh, I know! Do you like being around Lovino?"

"Of course!" Antonio answers brightly, immediately, almost surprising himself. "He's very fun to be around."

"Why?" Feliciano asks, tilting his head.

"Que?" Antonio mirrors the tilt as his expression falls slightly. "What do you mean 'why'?"

 _This is going to be harder than I thought,_ Feliciano realizes.

"Uhm…" The Italian tries. "Why… Why do you like being around him?"

"I don't know." Antonio responds honestly, scratching his head. He laughs. "I just do."

"Do you like being around me?"

"Si, of course!"

"Why?"

"Well, 'cause you're so cute and nice, Feli!"

Feliciano smiles pleasantly as the Spanish man ruffles his hair. Pulls slightly away when the man begins to reach for his characteristic hair curl. The man simply laughs in response and says something along the lines of "Just like Lovi!".

"Hm, what do you feel when you're close to fratello?" The Italian asks; he pauses, placing his hand above his heart; and his face brightens. "Does your heart go thump-thump?"

"Thump-thump?" Antonio smiles, mirroring Feliciano's movements. He presses his palm against his chest, feels the steady beating of his heart. "I guess… I mean, my heart always goes thump-thump."

 **Si. It's called being** _ **alive**_ **, genius. If your heart didn't do that, you'd be dead, querido.**

"Does your heart go thump-thump faster when fratello's around?" Feliciano presses. "Does it slow down when fratello is out somewhere doing something businessy? Oh! I mean, do you feel sad when fratello isn't around? Do you miss him?"

A strange tingling sensation invades Antonio's being at the asked question. He isn't quite sure what it is, but the sensation is rather… unpleasant. And he suddenly becomes very aware of the emptiness of the apartment. He doesn't like the feeling. He doesn't like it at all.

Feliciano studies Antonio's expression for a moment, before the sound of a door opening and closing distracts him. Lovino has returned.

"Fratello!" Feliciano pipes as he bounds over to the scowling grocery-carrying man. "What did you buy?"

Antonio sits frozen on the couch with his hand still pressed up against his chest. He isn't quite sure… but his heartbeat seems to be thumping much much faster than before.

"Just like a telenovela!" Antonio shouts with an intense whisper and with equally intense sparkling eyes.

* * *

Day 14

The week draws to an end.

"I'm gonna be gone for the entire day." Lovino announces to Antonio as the man pokes him sleepy head out from underneath the bed covers. "So don't make a fucking mess around the house, got it?"

The Italian is dressed in a crisp white blouse and a pair of black formal pants. Needless to say, he looks rather stiff and uncomfortable wearing the apparel. But appearances are everything.

He stands in front off a mirror that is hanging on the door and stares at his reflection as he struggles to properly fasten on his tie. As he does this, he catches Antonio staring at him in the corner of the mirror.

The Spaniard has been doing such things lately. Staring. Well, actually, the Spaniard has always done the attentive, smothering staring. But this kind of staring is vastly different. It's as if the man is trying to take notes on the Italian's features, motions, expressions.

And Lovino currently wears a blushing and scowling expression.

"Why the fuck are you staring at me, you fa…" He shakes his head. "You fuckin' creep."

"I was just thinking that'd I'd miss you." Antonio laughs brightly in response as he untangles himself from the bed sheets.

" _M-Miss_ me?" Lovino scowls, his face burning red again; he turns on his heels to face the man. "Why the fuck would you miss me, you bastardo? I'm not your fucking wife; and I'm sure as hell not going to miss yo—"

He is cut off as soon as he registers that Antonio is only a centimeter away from him. Frozen in place by the sudden closeness, he watches as the man runs his callused fingers along the nylon thread of the tie. He then watches with a deeply flushed face as the man plucks up one end of the tie and pulls it over the other end of the tie.

 **Dios mio! This is the perfect moment to strangle the brat. Do it. Now.**

"Looks like you're having trouble, Lovi!" Antonio laughs as he loops one end of the tie over the other and fastens it nicely. "There we go! Y'know that they have clip-on tie—"

 **Strangling does not equal tying a tie.**

"Get the fuck away from me, you bastard!" Lovino scowls, shoving the man away and crossing his arms over his tie protectively. "I can tie my own damn tie!"

"Lo siento!" Antonio chuckles, unphased by the shove. "It just really looked like you were struggling!"

"Mind the personal space, dammit!… Whatever…" Lovino grumbles in an almost defeated tone as he faces the mirror and observes Antonio's handiwork. "So you don't know remember what a tomato is, but you remember how to tie a fucking tie. You're fucking weird."

 _Well, I guess ,_ Lovino frowns as he thinks, _since he was a businessman before he had to at least know that much._

"Where are you going?" Antonio asks, standing on his toes and curiously peering into Lovino's face.

"None of your damn business." Lovino snaps, before he pauses with a hesitant frown. "I'm… I'm going to that pool place I talked about earlier — and no, you can't come. You'll fuck your head up even more if you get water on your injury, and I don't want to spend ten more weeks bandaging and unbadanging you, got it?"

"Ay, I understand."Antonio nods, his smile faltering slightly but his expression still bright. "You're always so busy, Lovi!"

Lovino pauses by the doorway for a moment. The faltering smile makes him feel uncomfortable.

"W-Well…" Lovino grumbles. "The Pool is pretty shitty, so I'll probably be home early…" He pauses almost as if he realizes that he has done something unforgivable; and he shakes his head and scowls, "so… I… y-you better have food — dinner prepared for me… dammit, alright?"

The stuttered and barely coherent phrase causes Antonio's face to light up like the sun. Lovino finds himself squinting at it because it is so bright.

"Of course, Roma!" Antonio exclaims, his excitement causing him to slip into the old diminutive. "I'll try to make that paella that I've been talking about!"

Lovino grumbles under his breath, swings open the door to the bedroom, and pauses there for a moment as if considering something.

"Ciao." He finally mutters.

"Ciao!" Antonio mimes in an albeit more cheerful tone and with a curt wave.

The Italian begins to walk out of the room and to the apartment door but pauses in step in front of the exit as he realizes that Antonio is trailing behind him.

"What the hell are you still following me for?" Lovino snaps in a whisper (Ludwig and Feliciano are still asleep on the couch), turning on his heels.

"I was going to see you off." Antonio blinks at him.

"You already saw me off back there, dammit." Lovino grumbles, pointing at the bedroom door. "Don't tell me you have amnesia again or something."

"Nothing like that. I just thought it would fit the moment more if I saw you off at the apartment door instead of the bedroom door." Antonio replies a little bit too innocently.

 _And_ , Lovino realizes, _it makes a lot more fucking sense_ to say goodbye at apartment doorway instead of the bedroom doorway. He doesn't admit this fact; and instead swings open the door with a huff.

"Adios!" Antonio waves again.

"Adios," Lovino finds himself saying despite himself.

…

Only half an hour later after Lovino leaves the apartment, Ludwig does so as well.

"My Bruder is having troubles with the engine on his motorcycle," Ludwig explains as he stands halfway through the doorway. "I'm going to stop by the library to see if there's an accredited manual about motorcycle engines there."

When Feliciano asks to come along, Ludwig reminds him that "You promised your family you'd visit today, didn't you? You cannot irresponsibly go back on your word."

 **If the situation were any different and if I were any less knowledgeable than Toni sitting there, I would have probably thought that "family" connotation indicated something of blood relations. I know better though. And it seems as if my suspicions are coming true. That Lovino does not seem to be a freelance hitman. He has ties to a family. His brother seems to too.**

 **Is it a powerful family? A possible asset?**

 **How irritating. Not knowing, I mean.**

And after a little bit more conversing Ludwig gives in — "Alright, alright. I'll go out with you to visit the gondolas later tonight then."

When Ludwig leaves, Antonio inquires about the "family" Ludwig mentioned.

"Oh, yeah!" Feliciano grins in response. "Fratello and I have a really big family with lots and lots of brothers and sisters!" There is a pause, before he adds, "Why don't you come with me to meet them?"

 **Ay, how I would love to jump at that opportunity if it were not for my current… Circumstances.**

Antonio almost jumps at the opportunity to meet what he believes to be the brothers' blood relatives, but catches himself.

"Lovino was pretty worried last time I left the house." Antonio says, tapping his chin. "I don't want him to worry again…"

 **You should worry for yourself. Not him.**

"Aw, don't be silly!" Feliciano waves his worries off. "It'll be fun! There's nothing worrisome about fun!"

"I have to admit," Antonio smiles with a cheerful laugh, "you make a good point!"

"Yeah! And besides," Feliciano continues matter-of-factually, "I'm sure my family is dying to meet fratello's roommate!"

"You think?" Antonio asks, sounding somewhat sheepish.

"Yeah!" Feliciano nods enthusiastically, before he pauses and adds carefully, "Well, actually, they can be a bit mean and scary sometimes, but I'm sure they'll treat you nice since you're gonna be with me — not to mention your my brother's roommate!"

 **Dios mio. I can already tell this isn't going to end well.**

 **At least, I will be able to discover that brat's famiglia ties.**

Only half an hour after Ludwig departs, Antonio and Feliciano do so as well.

* * *

[ **an officer's side notes** ]

(1) Zurich | Switzerland's largest city. Eponymous of the famous yet unaffiliated Swiss mercenary. Often takes jobs in Austria. Numerous supposed sightings in Liechtenstein (?)

(2) Minsk | Capital of Belarus. Name given to the assassin affiliated with a Russian Bratva

(3) Kuro | A mysterious Japanese assassin. Affiliations unknown. Suspected affiliations: the yakuza, the Quadrad (?)

(4) Mogyer | Old Hungarian word. Title given to the mysterious hit man(?) seen numerous times in incidences in Austria and Hungary. No sightings in the past five years (?)

* * *

The building Lovino stands in front of is identical to the ones he has passed by in the past hour: a sunbathed, limestone one-story house with open windows and arched red roofing. The atmosphere surrounding this building, however, is much different from the ones surrounding the others. Something about the atmosphere screams—

—KEEP OUT.

Perhaps it is the thin, torn drapes that billow over the open windows, or maybe it's the shadows that ghost behind the curtains and the windowsill. Perhaps it's even the emptiness of the surrounding area that contributes to the message as a whole. Either way, the message — KEEP OUT — is clear as day even without a sign.

So, Lovino Vargas — face concealed by sunglasses and black handkerchief — does the most logical thing. He enters the building.

The door creaks open with a whine, and the quiet whispers echoing within the building are hushed.

Lovino squints in the darkness and makes out toppled tables, broken glass, and — most important of all — moving humanoid shadows. All of which are focused solely on him.

Taking in a deep and calming breath, the Italian attempts to soothe his jittery nerves.

 _They don't know anything. You're tougher than them, dammit._

"You're late." One of the shadows states in a clipped, almost annoyed tone. "Romano."

Lovino suppresses the urge to jump and scream. Instead, he squints in the darkness and attempts to identify the person who spoke. In the shadows, he makes out a head of blonde hair, ice-blue eyes that seem glow above a camo-themed mouth mask, and a camouflaged militaryesque uniform.

"Zurich (1)" Lovino identifies and scowls despite the fact that the other man cannot see the expression. "I would've found this place faster if it wasn't in the middle of nowhere." He looks the room over again. "And what's with all this fucking darkness? It's depressing."

"You're face is depressing."

— an elegantly feminine yet venomous voice says such a thing from the corner of the room. The owner of the voice glares knives into Lovino's back; he can feel them without turning his head. He supposes that she has the capability to put an _actual_ knife in his back. Yes, Minsk (2): the only woman Lovino will never chance to flirt with — even if she is supposedly drop dead gorgeous beneath that laced violet mask. He has heard stories of men coming up to her before only to be stabbed right in the—

— Lovino shivers as his mind strays to the rumors.

"It is good to see you, Romano."

A calm, familiar voice.

 _Kiku,_ Lovino thinks with a sudden rush of relief.

He approaches the corner of the room where the voice has originated from and leans against the wall next to the man who spoke such kind words. It feels nice and comforting having someone familiar by his side.

"Kuro (3)." He acknowledges, trying to sound professional yet 'rough' at the same time.

He squints in the darkness and tries to register the addressed man's features. All he can make out, however, are the dark scarf wrapped around the man's lower face and the two sheathed blades that hang on the man's hip.

Kiku — Kuro, rather — nods at him in acknowledgment as well.

"Now, now," comes another feminine, yet somehow motherly voice, "that's enough of conflict for now, alright?"

Such a voice is familiar to Lovino as well, although he cannot figure out why.

"Mogyer(4)," Zurich identifies her gruffly after a pause of silence, "I thought you were… retired from the business."

Lovino squints into the darkness again and makes out the figure of what appears to be a young woman. Unlike the others he has seen so far, she does not appear to be wearing a mask of any kind.

"Yes, well," Mogyer says slowly, contemplatively, "I think we're going to discuss something that pertains to an acquaintance of mine… and to the interest of a friend of mine."

Lovino does not like the sound of that.

"Waitaminute."

— a large and towering man orders such a thing from another corner of the room. The man has such a powerful and commanding presence that the Italian is surprised that he has not noticed him before. Like the woman Mogyer, he does not wear anything over his face either.

"Are we only here ta talk about that missin' guy?" The man continues in a grumble. "I came all the way here for that? Maybe Lukas was right… Maybe I should go back ta settling down after all."

"And who are you supposed to be?" The Belarusian assassin Minsk asks thickly. "I've never seen you here before."

"Well, 'course not." The mysterious man chortles. "I retired from this thing years ago. If anything, you could say that I'm the one who founded the Pool!"

There is a pause of shocked silence.

"You're _lying_ …" Minsk hisses with narrowed eyes.

"I'm really not! I wouldn't know about the meeting place any other way, right?" The man continues to laugh. "So, what's the big deal about this missing guy?"

Lovino's heart skips a beat again. He feels like he has been caught red-handed doing something awful.

"Antonio Fernandez Carriedo." The supposedly retired Hungarian hit _wo_ man answers him kindly. "He is a very big… what's the word… 'boss' of a powerful family."

 _Shit. Shit. So this really is about Toni… Why the fuck did I even hope that it was about something else?_

"Oh yeah…" The Swiss mercenary nods with crossed arms. "I heard that he's disappeared."

"Hai," Kiku — Kuro — interjects, holding his chin with a contemplative look, "and from what I've observed, several other European family heads are heading to this town quite soon to either investigate or…"

"... or to see if they can take over the family themselves." Minsk grumbles, narrow-eyed. "Dirty. Power-hungry. Bitches."

Lovino begins sweating bullets and tapping his foot. Kiku notices this.

"I heard that the Sussex Firm is in town too." Another assassin chimes in. "The Brits, y'know?"

"The French Milieu too!" Exclaims another. "My grandma said she saw some Frenchie wanderin' the streets a couple days ago!"

"Say, Romano…"

The Italian tenses as he is addressed; and he attempts to smooth out his demeanor.

 _Think of something else, dammit. Calm the fuck down. Think of… the telenovela! Yeah, that's right. Why the fuck did they end the shitty thing on a cliffhanger for? Toni's going to blab about it for days!_

"... your famiglia didn't happen to order a hit on the guy's head, did they? You weren't the one to knock him out of the running list, were you?"

Silence.

The attentions of those within the room become pinpointed on Romano's stiff, cross-armed figure. The latter stiffens even further at the eyes pointed his way; and he unravels himself with a scowl.

"Hell no!" He snaps, lies, tries to calm his jittering nerves. "You know my MO. I always leave a body as a message."

— which is not true in the least bit. If he had the strength, time, and energy he'd remove every single body from the scene.

"So… what?" Another frowns. "The guy ran out on his famiglia? Too big of a business for him?"

"Nah, can't be." Someone else waves the suggestion off. "I met the guy before — well, I was assigned to take him out — and, well, damn. Let's just say that he really doesn't need all those bodyguards he keeps around him."

Lovino's stomach churns as the statement is made. For a moment, a memory of _that_ night flashes through his mind — poisonous, hungry green eyes and the biting cold of the tip of a gun pressed against the back of his head. It is quickly brushed aside, however, by a newer, fresher memory. The memory of a laugh.

"So, let me get this straight." Mogyer says slowly, as if she is trying to gather her thoughts. "None of you were assigned to assassinate Antonio?"

Her tone while saying the man's name, Lovino thinks, is a familiar one. The Spanish name rolls off her tongue like it is the name of an old friend.

A chorus of 'no's and 'nuh-uh's rise in the air followed by an irritated click of the tongue.

"If this is all we're going to discuss today," the Swiss mercenary snaps, "I am going to go home."

"Wait a minute, Zurich!" A man calls. "I just got an idea!"

Zurich, who is only a couple centimeters away from the doorway, pauses there and turns his head.

"Yes?" He asks thickly, impatiently.

"How about we have a game?" The man continues — his smile can be heard in the darkness. "Whoever finds this Antonio whatever guy first and carries out the job wins the game. Gets paid — we'll place bets!"

"What?!" The Swiss and the Italian snap in unison.

Lovino catches himself and withdrawals back into his corner as contemplative mumbles fill the room. He burns holes into the floor and clenches and unclenches his fists. A ringing noise has infiltrated his ears; a rapid thrumming has started eating away at his heart; and a spinning sensation has captured his mind. In all of this whispering and muddled chaos, however, the Italian finds his mind straying back to one thing — Antonio.

 _Shit. the hell?! What the fuck…?! These crazy bastards!_

He is too scared to move, to speak.

Once again, Kiku studies him.

"That is highly unprofessional." Mogyer clips, a dangerous undertone leaking out from her voice.

"I agree." Zurich nods with sharply narrowed eyes. "Do not let me hear you say such a foolish thing ever again. What we do is not a game." Without saying anything else, he exits the building and slams the door shut.

There is a pause that seems — at least to Lovino — to last forever.

"I still say we do it." The man scoffs. "Zurich is such a pussy. I'll put down a thousand right here and now!"

 _No. No. Shit. What the hell am I supposed to do?! I can't just…_

Lovino clenches his fists and continues to burn holes into the floor with his eyes.

"Alright then," chimes another, "I'll put down five thousand!"

"You guys are crazy! Didn't you hear about what I said about how tough the guy is, haha!"

"Nonsense! I'll put down five thousand too!"

 _If these guys find Toni… with the way he is right now… they'll—_

Lovino unclenches his fists, lifts his eyes up from the floor, takes a step forward, opens his mouth. Taking in a deep breath, he prepares to speak (Speak of what, he does not know. He doesn't even know _why_ he wants to speak up in the first place) when all of a sudden—

—- whoosh!

crack!

The ring of men and women who were formerly exchanging wads of cash suddenly find a large axe — where the hell did that even come from?! Lovino thinks as he recoils from the scene — imbedded at the center of their conversing circle. They immediately tense and almost instinctively reach for their respective weapons.

"Now, now!" The large man from before chortles as he walks leisurely forward and hefts the axe up off the ground easily with one hand. "The Pool's supposed to be an info-exchangin' kind of place — not a gamblin' one!"

"Who the hell do you think are?!" One of them growls, before suddenly finding a very large axe pointed squarely in his face.

"Like I said," the large man grins, "I'm a retired guy who founded this place. Now," he pauses, swinging the axe and resting it on his shoulder, "I won't have ya' dirtyin' up my baby with that kind of talk. If ya' want to do that kinda business, do it elsewhere!"

Even from the far corner of the room, Lovino can feel the intensity of the large man's icy blue gaze.

 _He's like a fucking viking or something_ , the Italian finds himself thinking with a gulp.

The growling man falters under such an intense gaze and retracts himself.

"Well," he huffs, storming towards the doorway, "if anyone still wants to do the … thing. Follow me, and we'll discuss."

Lovino nearly faints then and there when he sees a handful of men and women follow the man out of the building.

 _You've gotta be_ _ **shitting**_ _me!_

"Damn youngsters." The large man sighs, still holding the axe.

The Hungarian hit woman who stands beside him can't help but nod in agreement. Her bright green eyes are narrowed, and her delicate brows are furrowed with worry — stress, even.

It is at this time that Kuro turns to Romano with what resembles a worried expression.

"If you don't mind me asking, Romano," he says slowly, carefully, politely, "is there something—"

But the Italian is already dashing out of the building and down the street.

…

While Lovino finds himself in the middle of an increasingly precarious situation, Antonio finds himself standing and gaping up at an incredibly large structure.

He found the car ride to the place surprisingly long but _this_ surprise—

"Dios mio!"

A great and grand estate unfolds before him. Stone walkways lined with delicately trimmed shrubberies wrap around a cascading fountain twice the size of the one in the town square and lead up to the estate's front steps.

"F-Feli…" Antonio gapes, taking several steps back towards the car parked in the circular; he turns to the Italian with sparkling eyes. "Y-you live here?!"

He is so caught up in his own excitement that he does not notice the voice at the back of his head whisper,

 **Your house is much larger.**

And,

 **If it impresses you so much, take it and make it yours.**

"Well," Feliciano draws out slowly with a serene smile, "I _used to_ live here — Fratello too!"

"Wow…" Antonio murmurs in awe, before he turns his head towards the Italian questioningly. "Why did you move out?"

"Ah… well…" Feliciano's expression falls, causing Antonio to frown in turn and approach him. "Fratello… had a falling out with— Nico, hey, Nico!"

The young man who descends the stairs leading up to the mansion is most definitely Nico Basilio. He holds in his hands two large shopping bags that teeter dangerously above his dark head. When he hears Feliciano's call, he pauses and then rushes down excitedly to greet the Italian.

"Mr. Vargas!" Nico greets the Italian with enthusiasm; he struggles to meet the Italian's shimmering gaze but is unable to do so due to the sheer height of the bags he holds. "It's so good to see you back home!"

"Yeah!" Feliciano chimes in agreement before he scratches the back of his head. "I gotta ask though — why did you freak out so much back at fratello's apartment? You ended up freaking me out a little!"

"O-Oh, well…" Nico stutters, averting his eyes, "I just… was really excited to see you!"

"Aw, I was excited to see you too, Nico." Feliciano chuckles good-naturedly, before he eyes what the man carries curiously. He can vaguely make out what appears to be a wig and a dress buried inside of the bag that is closest to him."Hey, what are those for?"

"Well," Nico sighs, his expression falling, "I've got to deliver these to some Polish info-brok—"

His eyes widen and he trails off as he finally registers the man who stands behind Feliciano. That man, Nico realizes with terror-filled eyes, is the one who caused him to — as Feliciano put it — "freak out" at Lovino's apartment. The man who is — was — known as the Conquistador: Antonio Fernandez Carriedo.

Swallowing a scream, Nico drops the bags he holds in his hands and takes a step backwards.

"N-Nico…?" Feliciano frowns with worry. "W-What's wrong? Please don't freak out again!"

Nico shakes his head and moves to grab Feliciano's shoulders but stops himself as he remembers his place. Instead, he bends down low next to the Italian and whispers heatedly into his ear—

"What is _he_ doing here, Mr. Vargas?!"

"Oh, you mean Toni?" Feliciano raises his eyebrows as he turns to study the Spaniard. "I was just going to show him to the family!"

Nico recoils and stutters, "B-But, Mr. Vargas, he's—"

And then the memory of that night all those days ago slaps the transporter in the face; and he bites his tongue.

" _If Feliciano finds out about this, I'll blow your fucking brains out!"_

"I…" Nico shakes his head and scrambles for a plausible, reasonable excuse for his behavior. "What if someone from a rival family sees him?! He'll be targeted!"

"Oh!" Feliciano exclaims, his expression becoming worried as well. "I-I didn't even think of that..."

"Que?" Antonio tilts his head as he takes a step forward. "'Rival family'?" He laughs, causing Nico to start. "Are you playing some sort of game with another family, Feli?" He then pauses as if remembering something and extends his hand out towards Nico. "Ay, I almost forgot! We kind of met a couple nights ago I think. I'm Lovino's roommate, Toni!"

Nico gapes at Antonio incredulously, before he eyes the extended hand pensively. Swallowing his nerves, he reaches out and accepts the gesture. A firm and business-like handshake. But the smile that the man wears does not seem business-like at all.

"N-Nico…" The man stutters. "I'm Nico…"

Suddenly, more footsteps resound from the foot of the mansion. Rubber against cobblestone. Carefully placed and business-like. Professional.

Two distinct voices rise above the falling steps—

"Like I said, Mister Bonnefoy, I had no knowledge of Mister Fernandez Carriedo's disappearance until recently."

"I see, Monsieur Basco. Rest assured, I believe you wholley, but if you are lying to me…"

 **Dios mio! That's Francis! I… I can't believe it!**

 **Look this way.**

 **Come on.**

 **I'm right here!**

— **Oh, I suppose I should fill you in on who this Francis is.**

 **Francis Bonnefoy, CEO of Gaul Industries. His company specializes in cosmetics as well as food products. Unlike in that puta Arthur's case, that front matches Francis's personality well.**

 **We're business partners exteriorly. In reality, we're childhood friends. Now that I think about it, he's probably my oldest friend — Gilbert aside.**

 **I wouldn't exactly say that he's the reliable type, but he's definitely something.**

It's the boss, Nico realizes. The boss and the strange French businessman.

Nico nearly faints then and there as he registers the two descending the steps, but then he once again remembers Lovino's words to him all those nights ago.

" _If the famiglia finds out about Antonio, I'll blow your fucking brains out, dammit!"_

Thinking quickly while also not thinking at all, he gathers up the collection of wigs and dresses from the floor, grabs Antonio's arm, and shoves the man into the car that is parked only several feet away. A second later, he launches himself into the car as well. Feliciano is left to stare in utter confusion after them.

…

Antonio winces as Nico lands awkwardly on top of him on the car seat. Needless to say, he is confused. He says such which simply earns an equally confused expression from Nico.

"What are we doing exactly?" Antonio laughs.

Nico opens his mouth to respond, but then he _remembers—_

" _If that bastard Antonio finds out anything about this, I'll blow your fucking brains out, dammit!"_

"I…" Nico swallows. "It's a game."

"A… game…?" Antonio's smile falters.

"Yes, an acting game." Nico nods fiercely ( _What am I even saying_?). "It's part of the rival family thing. One of the guy's out there is from a rival family, and he's pretending to be someone else. Feliciano is playing too. But if you don't play along, we'll lose our winning streak!"

" Q-Que…?"

"You've got to disguise yourself and pretend like you're someone else!" Nico nods fiercely. "It's an acting game! An acting game!"

There is a pause. And in that pause Nico nearly punches himself in the face for saying ridiculous things.

 _There's no way,_ Nico thinks panickedly, _that he's going to believe what I just said—_

"I understand!" Antonio exclaims firmly from beneath him.

Nico blinks down at the man in utter confusion. His confusion increased tenfold when he registers that the man has on an intense expression. The man's eyes are burning with an bright and almost passionate fire; and his lips are turned upwards with determination.

"Y-You _do_ …?"

"Si!" Antonio exclaims, taking Nico's hands in his. "I'll do whatever you need me to do!"

…

Feliciano stares with a pale expression at the car in which Antonio and Nico have disappeared into. His mind becomes filled with numerous scenarios and numerous explanations for what has just occurred and what is possibly currently occurring in the car.

"Oh my!" A shout comes from behind him. "Feliciano, is that you?"

Feliciano turns on his heels and finds himself face-to-face with his famiglia's capo.

The Oenotrus Family's head is a middle-aged man with a seemingly father-like temperament. The wrinkles that line his angled face are born from many years of laughing and smiling excessively. Those things and stress. The speckles of gray that sprinkle the man's dark brown head are a tell-tale sign of such stress. Even so, the man's amber eyes are kind and free.

"Fiero!" Feliciano exclaims, before he is wrapped in a tight bear-like hug from the addressed man.

"It's so good to see you, Feliciano!" The capo Fiero Basco grins, patting the younger Italian on the head. "How's school been treating you?"

"It's kinda hard…" Feliciano admits with a slight and sheepish chuckle. "But I'm liking my classes! I'm almost tempted to skip them all the time though — but my friend Ludwig helps to keep me on track!"

"Skipping isn't good, you know that, Feliciano!" Fiero laughs heartily, before he pauses and scans the area behind the Italian. "So… Lovino didn't come this time either, huh?"

"No…He's still… " Feliciano shakes his head as his expression falls; he shakes his head again and smiles brightly. "But he'll visit one day — I'm sure!"

There is a beat of silence, and then the figure standing beside Fiero finally makes himself known:

"My, my, Feliciano, you sure have grown."

The warm phrase is said by a man who stands several heads higher than the Italian. The man's skin is pale — it's almost as if he has rarely seen sunlight which is an impossible occurrence in the area — and his hair is fair and blonde. His twinkling eyes are blue, clear.

A foreigner.

"Uhm…" Feliciano blinks up at the strange man and takes a step back. "Who are you?"

"You don't remember me?" The man gasps, feigning hurt (Or maybe the man really _is_ hurt. Feliciano cannot tell. For once, he cannot 'read' a person's behavior). "We played once when we were kids. I was very fond of your grandfather."

"You knew Grandpa?" Feliciano murmurs with raised eyebrows and widened eyes.

"Oui, I did. He was a good man." The man nods. He extends his hand outwards in greeting. "Since you do not remember me, I will reintroduce myself. I am Francis Bonnefoy."

"Feliciano Vargas!" The Italian chimes in response as he takes the older man's hand.

It is at this exact moment that Nico tumbles out of the car and out onto the circular. The man quickly scrambles to his feet and greets the three gathered men with a respectful yet somehow misplaced bow.

"Nico." Fiero raises a brow at his sudden appearance. "I thought you were out delivering that package."

"I-I was, but…"

"He was taking care of me!"

Such a phrase is said in a singsong voice by the other occupant of the vehicle. The voice is musical and somehow almost forcefully feminine in nature.

The four men turn their heads and watch as a beauty of apparent Spanish descent steps out of the car and onto the street.

Feliciano and Francis can only gape and stare.

A cascade of brown curls tied into a messy yet aesthetic bun rises above the woman's head. Long and dark lashes arch above wide and vibrant green eyes and pursed red lips. A pair of even redder square glasses rests on the bridge of the woman's nose. But that article of clothing is not as red as the velvet dress that swirls around her body. It hugs her rather large bosom tightly and stretches up to collar her neck.

The woman blinks at the men standing before her and offers them a bright and sunny smile.

"Hola, I am Isabel!"

 **Ha. Ha. I will most definitely add Nico to my elimination list.**

Feliciano can only blubber wordlessly.

"Isabel?" Francis raises a brow. He seems almost amused now.

"She's… An acquaintance of Mr. Romano." Nico explains hesitantly, eyeing the shorter Italian and hoping he catches on. The Italian does not and continues to stare at "Isabel" incredulously.

"Ay, we're more than acquaintances!" Isabel explains with a laugh. "I'm Lovi's roommate!"

Nico nearly trips over his two feet.

"Roommate?" Fiero repeats surprised.

"Si!" Isabel nods once, twice, before her eyes widen and she turns to Nico and whispers something along the lines of, "Dios mio, I wasn't thinking! Did I lose the game?"

After Nico reassures her that she mostly definitely did not lose the game, she turns to the two older men and extends a delicate hand, saying,

"You must be Lovino and Feliciano family member! I've been dying to meet you!"

There is a pause of silence in which Fiero carefully looks Isabel and then Feliciano over. After a moment of this, he graciously takes her hand and shakes it.

"It is a pleasure to meet a friend of the brothers! A friend of theirs is a friend of mine. Feel free to tour my house."

"You're so kind!" Isabel laughs daintily in turn, before she turns to the man standing beside him.

As soon as she fully registers the man, the world around her goes spinning. Blonde curls mix with the green of the shrubberies and the sparkle of the fountain.

 **You know this man,** the voice at the back of her head screams at her. _But that's impossible_ , she thinks because she has never seen such a man in her life. And she shakes the feeling off.

When she refocuses on her surroundings, she finds that — much to her surprise — the blonde man has taken her extended hand and has placed a kiss on it. She feels the tips of his lips brush against her hand and freezes as he blinks up at her with deep blue eyes.

"It is a pleasure to meet such a beautiful woman." The man says. "I am Francis Bonnefoy."

 **Francis. You know it is me. Don't tell me you don't recognize me!**

Isabel throws her head back and laughs daintily again—

"A very lovely name!"

Francis frowns at her strangely.

"Well, Feliciano," Fiero clears his throat as he places a hand on the addressed's shoulder, "how about you go say hi to the rest of the famiglia, okay? And take your pretty friend with you too."

Nico tenses at the suggestion and prepares to interject himself into conversation before it is too late, but -

\- Feliciano, whose mind is still spinning, takes Isabel's hand and teeters up the stairs and into the building. Nico can only gape at them in horror.

Needless to say, Isabel — Antonio, rather — is overwhelmed by the affection Feliciano receives from his family. He is also overwhelmed by how large the Italian's family is. And he finds himself laughing wildly when such a large family begins treating him with affection as well.

It's strange.

For some reason, he did not picture Lovino's family being so warm and affectionate.

"What? You're Mister Romano's roommate?" Asks one of the family members whose name seems to be Romeo. "That's totally sweet, man! Wow, you're so pretty! Are you his girlfriend too?"

Antonio finds himself blushing sheepishly and holding his face. He's not sure whether he is acting or not. Either way, he finds that he is having fun. For the most part.

"I think she's more suitable for Mr. Vargas if I do say so myself."

The formalities and the buzz of it all send Antonio's head spinning. He isn't quite sure if this is because of the overwhelmingness and excitement of the situation or the strange familiarity he has with the circumstances. He doesn't ponder it over very long. And, with a sunny laugh, he temporarily excuses himself outside.

The cool afternoon breeze that ghosts his skin when he steps out into the courtyard is relieving; and the heavy scent of freshly cut grass is intoxicating. Humming to himself at the serenity of it all, he teeters haphazardly down the steps. _Wearing high heels sure is hard_ , he thinks to himself, before he adds with determination: _but I need to win the game for Lovi and Feli!_

He makes it down the steps and paces leisurely over to to the fountain that rises from the center of the circular. He circles the thing once, twice, and then finds a nice and dry edge to sit on. Sighing, he leans forward and rests his head on the tip of his folded hands. And he thinks.

 _Feliciano and Lovino's family is so nice! I really hope we go home soon though… I need to start making that paella I promised to make for Lovi… Ay, wait… what goes in a paella again…? Tomatoes definitely, right? Yes, tomatoes go with everything! Tomatoes… I could really eat some right now…_

"You seem to be in deep thought, madamasoullie."

 **Francis!**

Antonio starts in surprise and turns to find the strange blonde man from before sitting beside him. The man sits with his cheek resting on his open palm. His head is tilted at such an angle that it causes his loosely tied golden locks to form a cavern around his head. His expression strays between amusement and curiosity.

"Hola!" Antonio greets the man cheerily, before he admits: "I was just thinking of tomatoes really."

A pause of confusion which is shortly followed by action:

"My, my dear Antonio," the Frenchman drawls, tilting his head with an almost flirtatious smile, "you really do pull off a dress well. Fashionably even."

 **Dios mio. He knows it's me! Finally, I can—**

"Haha," Antonio laughs almost nervously, waving the man off, "my name is Isabel not Antonio!"

 _Didn't Bella mistake me for this Antonio person too?_ The Spaniard ponders for a moment. _We must look a lot alike then…_ And in that moment of pondering, he misses the strange look Francis gives him.

"I must say," Francis says as he raises his head, "you really do seem to be deep into your role — whatever this role is. Your acting is almost on par with the acting of that one famous French legend."

 **I'm not acting!**

"I'm not acting," Antonio repeats the words the voice in his head tells him too.

Francis stares at him again, before he shakes his head and laughs lightly.

"Very well, mon ami," Francis sighs, leaning backwards. He pauses and studies Antonio with a small semblance of a smile. "I must say though, you gave Gilbert and I quite the fright. You haven't even told your famiglia about what you're doing here, have you?"

Antonio blinks at Francis in confusion. His confusion morphs into worry when he sees Francis's features somber.

"You really should." Francis says slowly, folding his hands under his chin. "The Oentrus Family is not to be taken lightly. Even with Gaius gone… they are still a power to be reckoned with. Plus, I hear that you're supposed disappearance has captured that unstylish Kirkland's attention."

 **The Oenteus Famiglia. So they're the ones…**

 **And Arthur as well…?**

 **Once Francis understands the situation, I'll teach those two groups a thing or two… Francis seems intent on holding a one-sided conversation with himself though…**

 _This is going over my head… What is an Oentrus? Gaius? And I haven't disappeared — I'm right here…!What is this Francis guy even talking about? I'm so confused… And why does just thinking of that word 'Kirkland' make me want to punch a wall…? But wow! This Antonio must have a very lively lifestyle! I'm almost jealous._

"Well, business aside," Francis continues, tucking a golden lock behind his ear, "I really have missed you, Antonio. It has been so long since we've talked as friends rather than acquaintances."

 _Wait. Is… Is this flirting…?_

Antonio straightens himself.

 _It must be! Just like Tulio and Esperanza! ... right?_

The Frenchman prepares to belt out another melodramatic line but stops himself short as he registers Antonio's blank expression. Confusion is clear on the Spaniard's face. His eyebrows are knit and his smile somewhat dimmed.

"Antonio—"

"Ay, my name isn't Antonio." Antonio says as he tilts his head. "It's Toni." His eyes widen as if he has been caught in a lie; and he quickly waves himself off. "I mean, it's Isabel!" He then laughs a sheepish and high-pitched yet somehow musical laugh. "They sound alike, no?"

Francis does not think the two names sound alike at all. No, they most definitely do not. Francis does not think Antonio is 'alright' either. Something is off. The man sitting before him seems way too… _oblivious_? No… _innocent_? For a moment, Francis ponders if this is all part of the 'act' Antonio has set up; but the troubling expression the man wears brushes away such pondering.

"Tonio," Francis frowns, reaching over and gently touching the man's shoulder; he studies the man's face — really looks at him, "what… what are you exactly trying to do here?"

 **Dios mio! Finally!**

"What do you mean?" Antonio — ignoring the strange address — tilts his head and peers into the Frenchman's face, before he pulls back with a sunny laugh. "I'm just visiting my friends' family! Isn't that why you're here…?"

The rushing pitter-patter of the water fountain behind them fills the empty silence.

Francis's bright blue eyes narrow; and he releases his grip on the man's shoulders. Pulls back from him in confusion and surprise.

"Tonio, wha—"

"Ton— I mean, Isabel!" comes an enthusiastic shout from behind the two conversing men.

Antonio turns away from Francis and waves bright-eyed as he sees Feliciano descend the stairway. His expression brightens even more when the Italian draws near.

(By this point, the Italian has come to assume that Antonio's disguise is to prevent him from being identified by rival families.)

"Oh, Francis, you're still here!" Feliciano exclaims in surprise.

But the Frenchman is too distracted by Antonio's behavior to even respond.

"Are we going home now, Feli?" The Spaniard asks with a smile as he rises to a stand. "I promised to make Lovi some paella earlier today, and I'm pretty sure it takes a long time to make it… so it'd be pretty great if we were leaving now — I could get started!"

"Oh, yeah!" Feliciano pipes, tossing a pair of car keys up in the air and catching it deftly. "I just said goodbye to the others. And did you say paella? I've always wanted to try that!"

"Si, I'll try my best!" Antonio nods passionately, fiercely; he pauses, turns to Francis, and gives the man a small wave despite the fact that they are only inches away from each other. "Well, adios, Francis!"

The Frenchman can only stare in confusion as the man and the apparent woman walk towards the vehicle parked in the circular.

 _ **Francis**_ **! Do something! Mierda! I thought I could rely on him!**

The duo enter the car with some difficulty — Antonio's dress keeps getting hooked on the side of the car. After a moment of struggle and a ring of laughter, they finally make it into the car. It is at this moment that Francis finally shakes himself free of his stupor. He attempts to run to the car and request Antonio's presence for a couple more minutes; but as soon as he steps within the vicinity of the car's path, the vehicle takes off — and nearly takes him _out_ with it.

" _Mon dieu!_ "

"Ay, Feli, I think you almost ran over something."

"Did I? Oh well! It's kinda hard to control an old car when you're going fast!"

"Haha, I guess you're right!"

…

When Ludwig returns home after long and perilous day of perusing the library, he is greeted with a strange sight—

"Why the fuck would you take him to the family for?! Jesus, how the hell do you get this thing off?!"

"I-I just wanted to show him to the family! Introduce him — oh no, fratello, I-I'm stuck!"

"Lovi, your family was so nice! I don't understand why you don't like me meeting them… It's nothing to be embarass—ow!"

" _OW_!"

At the very center of the apartment stands the Vargas twins. They are tangled together in what appears to be… a… bra-strap…?

A woman stands sandwiched in between them. Her bare shoulders are exposed to the humid night air; and one end of her bra-strap is caught on her right arm. Her cheeks are flushed in what appears to be heat or embarrassment, but she laughs musically and clearly.

"W-What the…" Ludwig shakes his head incredulously as he shields his eyes.

Something suddenly tumbles out of the woman's bra. A melon. And then another. They hit the floor with a loud thud! thud! and roll lazily towards the German's feet. Ludwig stares at the two fruits with a twitching eyebrow, before he raises his gaze to observe the woman — no, the man who is dressed as a woman. Antonio.

"What in _Gott's_ name is going on here?!"

* * *

piscina [Spanish]

pool (noun) / a group of assassin who are aiming for Antonio Fernandez Carriedo's head for a large sum of money; the place where Lovino hates to be; the place where Antonio wishes Lovino to return from early

* * *

Antonio sighs with relief as he sinks into the couch beside Ludwig. The Spaniard wears a simple blouse and a pair of slacks - a far cry from the stiff elegantness he'd been adorned with before.

 _It feels so nice to be out of that dress,_ he thinks as he side-glances at the said man is busily chattering away on the phone in what Antonio supposes is German. A shame. He'd been hoping to talk to the man — to thank him for freeing him from _that_ mess.

The Spaniard soon realizes that he really doesn't have much else to do than sit there. Lovino is in the shower; and Feliciano is out gathering groceries. Humming to himself, he studies Ludwig's features, eyes the man's seemingly permanent frown. The German, Antonio realizes, always seems to be frowning.

"Hey, Ludwig," he says without really thinking, "sonrisa!"

The man, phone pressed tightly against his ear, turns to him curiously.

"Smile, Ludwig!" Antonio cheers, signaling out a 'u' above his mouth with both of his hands. "Smile!"

Ludwig opens his mouth as if to respond but pauses as if distracted by something, something that is happening on the other end of the phone.

"What?" The German frowns, evidently speaking to the person on the opposite end of the line. "Why?"

"Why?" Antonio repeats, not realizing such a thing; he laughs. "Well... I've heard that smiling is good for you!" He starts as Ludwig suddenly holds the cellphone out to him. "Que…?"

"I'm sorry," the German grumbles, rubbing his eyes, "but mein Bruder really wants to talk to you for some reason."

"Your… 'Bruder'?" Antonio repeats in confusion, before he takes the cellphone hesitantly and presses it to his ear. "Hola…?"

"MEIN GOTT! It is you!"

The voice on the opposite end of the line is so loud and so strangely familiar that the Spaniard nearly drops the device.

* * *

 **A/N** : (╯°□°)╯︵ ┻━┻

I've FINISHED. 12k words somehow! I wanted to squeeze more into this chapter but I realized that I was going a bit overboard OTL. Anyways, we alight at the tip of first base next chapter. I've just realized that I've never ever written smut before and I'm not sure if I should include some or not. We'll see.

Side-note into my personal life: I am screwed for my prob-stats exam. Self-teaching yourself math and cramming for chemistry do not mix. Should've looked at Rate My Professor before I took the class but I did not. That's on me though. Here's to hoping I can collect the remnants of my GPA after this week…

Oh, also (I forgot to mention this last time) I added a little bit to the first chapter. Not much but just a little "background info", so you guys can check that out if you want ◦°˚\\(*❛‿❛)/˚°◦

Thanks to all those who read, followed, and favorited!

Lots of late Valentine's Day love to

Shiroyamimaru - I enjoy writing his mental notes. It's like channeling my inner snark.

DragonClaw827 - Thank you! And yeah, I realized that after I read it through again after posting it OTL. I guess I got a little too excited.

Ariaprincess - Gracias! For both compliments! ヾ(❛ε❛")ʃ

Errui - Hopefully I met your expectations! Also, your username sounds very cute (o u o)

rukisea - HELLO. Your reviews make me so happy. I just can't describe it. I'm so happy that this fic gives you emotions. Your reviews give me a lot emotions OTL. Hopefully the appearance of Gilbert made you happy as well? And I enjoy writing Antonio so much. He's just like a wonderful ray of sunshine that needs to grace every human being on this earth! Thanks for the compliments and the good wishes. (๑╹ڡ╹)╭ ～

RedPhoenix15 - No problemo. Here's another one! xD. Antonio's not going to come out for a while... or is he? I honestly don't know myself （･ิω･ิ）

SpindleWink - Hoorah!( Ո‿Ո)

Faller's Wings: I'm glad you do /winkwonk.

Skitp: Many thanks! Glad you enjoyed!

for your lovely reviews!

Off to study for chem!


	7. Bacio

**My (False) Love**

007: Bacio

kiss (n.) / a touch with the lips in kissing

* * *

Ever since he was a young boy, Lovino had a knack for flirting. It was the only time his words ever came out relatively smoothly.

"Sei incantevole," eight year old Lovino purred to a seven year old girl named Chelles at a formal ball hosted by a strange French family.

"Oh! What's that mean?" The girl asked curiously.

"You're enchanting." Lovino responded coyly, allowing his eyes to soak up the girl's cute laugh and her faint blush.

"Ah, the young Master Lovino is such a flirt!" His personal bodyguards would coo. "The women are flocking to him!"

Of course, he never went beyond words. But that was only because he didn't know that there was anything beyond those words.

That is not until he witnessed his grandfather making love to a woman in the master bedroom of their vacation house. It was a horrifying sight to the young Italian, because he had never seen such a thing before and had become mistaken and confused about his grandfather's actions. For three weeks Lovino avoided Gaius like the plague because he believed that the older man had eaten the poor woman's face off. It wasn't until one of the guards pried into it that the matter was resolved. With tears in his eyes, Gaius had explained to the flustered Italian that he had not been "eating the woman's face off"; rather, he had been kissing her "passionately".

"Kissing?" Lovino pouted, arms crossed and face red. "That was kissing? That didn't look like kissing."

"Yes, it was kissing!" Gaius grinned as he squeezed the Italian's cheeks. "It's a different type of kiss from the one I give you and Feliciano. The one that you saw was the kind you give to someone you really, really like. Someone you're in love with."

"Do you mean someone you think is hot or cute?" Lovino asked with a pout.

Gaius laughed. "Yes, sure. But you also give that kind of kiss to someone who makes you feel all warm and hot inside. Someone who makes you feel all tingly and makes you go 'Hey, cutie, we should hang out more!'"

Lovino wasn't sure if he could put a finger on the emotion his grandfather was describing.

"Well, there's of course a bunch of different types of kisses you can give to your lover. The loving pecks. The quick dot on the lips. Those are some one-sided kisses."

Lovino stared wide-eyed as Gaius went on and on.

"But, my dear grandson, the best kisses with a lover are ones where you are both participating fully and sensually. You are in her, and she is in you. You can taste each other's breaths —"

Lovino blushed a bright and vivid shade of red.

"Mein Gott. You really are shameless, aren't you, Gaius?"

— One of Gaius's closest business partners, Aldaric, said such a thing right before he pulled the man aside to discuss… business matters.

Lovino was left to himself with burning cheeks and a spinning mind.

"Hey, Feli," Lovino snapped to his brother a couple days later, "have you ever kissed a girl? Like, not the kind of kiss you give me or grandpa. You probably haven't right—

"Who told you?!" Feliciano exclaimed, whirling around with a furious blush.

Needless to say, Lovino's mouth dropped open. He grabbed his brother by the scruff and began to shake him roughly, vigorously."What?! You have?! W-With who?!"

Three questions. One answer.

"With… With Aldalric's k-kid…" Feliciano stuttered, mumbled embarrassedly. "Fratello, you're hurting me!"

"What?" Lovino frowned in confusion. He didn't recall Aldaric ever having a daughter. The man only had sons. His eyes widened and he released Feliciano from his death grip. "You kissed Alphonse?! You kissed a boy?!" He recoiled. "You're… _gay_?!"

"I-It was by accident!" Feliciano stuttered. "Me, Alphonse, and a couple of the others were playing house, and I was the mom and Alphonse was the dad, and… w-we kissed!"

"Why were you the mom for?!" Lovino snapped.

"Because everyone said that I'd make a great mom!" Feliciano replied without a second thought.

Lovino left it at that. He was irritated by the fact that his brother had gotten his first kiss before he did. He felt cheated. He wanted to be kissed too — not by a weird boy, but by a cute girl. He wanted to feel the emotions that his grandfather described.

It was then that he embarked on his flirtatious journey.

But, alas!

He never held a relationship long enough to get to first base — well, he did give kisses and receive kisses, but they were the 'one-sided' ones his grandfather had described with little enthusiasm. Whenever emotions were at the tipping point in Lovino's relationship with someone, he would immediately break it off. In the process, he would break the girl's heart, as well as his own. He tried to point his actions towards the fact that the girl wasn't pretty enough or that he didn't like the girl enough, but he knew deep down that that was not true at all.

Alas, in reality, young Lovino Vargas was very afraid. Deep-down and rooted in his subconscious the idea that kissing was just eating someone's face off was still ever present.

But then tragedy hit two years later.

Black suits. No casket. Averted gazes.

After his grandfather's death, Lovino Vargas — age ten — realized the difference between dreams and reality and stopped investing emotions in his relationships. Flirting with pretty girls was just for fun. Relationships were ridiculous. Betrayal was around the corner. Investing in something that would never last was ridiculous. Passionate kissing was ridiculous. Idealism and picturesque fantasies where everything fit into place were for idiots.

Little did Lovino Vargas know that twelve years later he would be engaged in such idiotic behavior.

* * *

The man on the other end of the phone continues rattling on and on with a tone that resembles anger. He talks so fast, so rapidly, that Antonio can barely distinguish the man's words from his breaths. The fact that there is a strange whispering at the back of his head does not help either—

 **How could I have not realized it before — the reason why Ludwig looked so familiar? It's because I have seen him many times already! Ludwig is Gilbert's younger brother!**

 **Gilbert… I guess I should disclose who he is too.**

 **His full name is Gilbert Beilschmidt; and unlike Francis and I, he is not head of any conglomerate organization. No, he does not hold any of the "power" that Francis and I hold. Not anymore at least. He does, however, hold a variant of "power". He's the leader of the remnants of a very, very old German family. Well, honestly, it is just a motorcycle gang currently — but that does not matter. The fact that he is talking to my body right now does. If I can just get my current embarrassing state across to him, he could help me get out of it. Even if it hurts my pride. And then I can get back to my work… and teach that Lovino brat a lesson.**

 **Gilbert, notice it! Por favor!**

 **I'm watching the conversation between him and my body right, and it looks like—**

After staring at the cellular device for several long moments, Antonio musters the courage to press it up against his ear once more. The man on the other end of the line has yet to cease shouting.

"Lo siento," he says, tilting his head slightly away from the device, "but… who is this?" He is asking both the man on the phone and Ludwig the question, but Ludwig looks too tired and worn to respond.

"What do you mean 'who is this'?!" The man on the other end shouts in an almost indignant tone. "You should know who this is just by hearing my heavenly awesome voice!"

A strange cackle follows the statement.

Ah. Antonio decides to nickname this man Senor Increible. Mister Awesome.

"I really don't recognize your voice, Senor Increible!" Antonio responds, finding himself matching the enthusiasm in the other man's voice; he adds with a laugh, "I was going to say that you had the wrong phone number, but this isn't even my phone, si?"

"Don't pretend like you don't know who this is!" Senor Increible says in a clipped tone. "That's totally un-awesome! You should've known this phone call was from me the moment my Bruder gave you the phone — no, from the very moment I made this call in the first place! Ja!"

"I… really don't know who this is." Antonio laughs, almost as if amused by the situation he has found himself in. "Why did you want to talk to me anyways?"

There is a pause.

"Waitaminute," Senor Increible drawls out slowly, "this is Antonio, right?"

 _Another person thinks I'm this Antonio person! I guess our voices must sound a like too!_

"This is…" Antonio responds after a pause. "This is Toni actually!"

"Pfft! Antonio, Toni, Tonio — tomato, tomato! Why're you pulling my leg for, Toni? You almost had me there for a second!"

Another cackle.

"Anyways, where have you been pulling your ass around at? And why're you chilling with my Bruder for? You better not be pulling him into anything funny! It's my job as his awesome older Bruder to keep him on the right path, yknow?"

Antonio finds his thoughts straying.

"….anyways, Francis and I thought you died or something!"

"Que?" Antonio perks up at the familiar name with a grin(Senor Increible's entire speech went right over his head.). "You know Francis?"

"'Do I _know_ Francis'?" Senor Increible barks out a laugh that causes Antonio to pull away again. "It's not like I've known him since I was like five!"

"Wow!" Antonio hums, impressed. "You two must be really close then!"

"Er… Ja… Are you high right now or something?"

"No, nothing like that!" He responds sunnily, suddenly feeling comfortable conversing with this supposed stranger. "I just met Francis for the first time a couple hours ago, so I was thinking that that was a really funny coincidence — oh! And Francis thought I was this Antonio person too — which is funny because I was dressed like a girl at the time and…" He pauses, recollecting his straying thoughts, "Dios mio, what I was trying is that I'm not this Antonio person people keep mistaking me for. I'm just Toni. Lo siento."

The other end of the line is dead silent.

For a moment, Antonio thinks that Increible has hung up on him because he is not 'Antonio'. Such assumptions, however, are quickly brushed away, because the man on the opposite end of the line finally speaks. No, he cackles.

"Keseseese! Oh my god, Tonio! You almost had me there for a second! I actually thought you lost your memories or developed some sort of split personality or something! Did Francis put you up to this? Man, I never would have expected you to go along with it! This is rich!"

"How did you know?" Antonio asks in surprise, having only picked up one single detail of the man's monologue.

"Keseseese…. se…huh… ? What? Know what?"

Antonio smiles and laughs: "How did you know that I lost my memories?" He pauses, his expression becoming awed and impressed. "Wait… Are you psychic?"

There is another pause. A much lengthier one.

"Tonio…"

Suddenly Senor Increible's voice becomes serious.

"... as the master and lord of all good pranks, I say that you're taking this one too far. And trust me, when I say you're going too far, you really are going to far."

"Prank?" Antonio repeats. "I… I don't understand…"

"Shit. You're… You're joking right? You've got to be shitting me, Antonio!"

"I'm not joking." The Spaniard responds, puzzled. "Ay, and my name is not Antonio, you know?"

There is a pause again.

Toni thrums his fingers idly. In the background, he can hear Lovino getting out of the shower.

"I hear Arthur has an eye on your headquarters in Madrid." The man finally says in a strange tone. It's almost as if he is testing the waters. "The dick has an eye on your personal Armada especially. Even your fia—"

"Armada?" Antonio repeats, before he chuckles curiously. "But I don't own a fleet of ships! If you're talking about this Antonio person owning them though — ay, he must be rich!"

There isn't even a pause before the man on the other end of the line shouts: "Sohn von einem Weibchen!"

Once again, Antonio peels away from the phone. "Uhm… what…?"

"You're really not fucking joking?!"

"About having amnesia?" Antonio absentmindedly toys with one of his curls. He recalls Lovino suggesting he get the 'damned thing cut so it'll stay out of [his] wound and bandaging'. "Why would I joke about that?"

"Oh shit. Fucking shit, man. Do you know how unawesome this is?! Shit. Shit. God, this would be hilarious if it was happening to somebody else, but _shit_!"

There is a clattering sound, like things are falling to the ground. Metal against concrete.

"You… sound very stressed, Senor Increible." Antonio says as his smile falters somewhat.

"How did it happen?!"

"How did… what happen?"

"How did you fucking getting amnesia?!"

"Oh," Antonio chuckles, "you see, my roommate—-

"Your _roommate_?!"

"Si," Antonio nods, holding the phone away from his ear once more, "my roommate."

"You don't have a roommate!"

"Hm? But I do!" Antonio finds himself shouting back with equal enthusiasm and vigor. He pauses and then laughs. "Anyways, I came home drunk one day and I was being kinda mean and violent I guess, so Lovi whacked me over the head to protect himself; and I woke up like this! But it's okay. Lovi's been taking care of me."

Ludwig nearly drops the cup of tea he is drinking and turns to Antonio incredulously. The latter is too immersed into his conversation to notice the reaction however.

" _Lovi_?" The man on the other end repeats. "Who the hell is this Lovi dick? Shit, forget that. Where the hell are you?"

"In our apartment..." Antonio replies, a frown gracing his lips as he registers the words 'dick' and 'Lovi' being synonymously said together.

"But _where_?"

"Ay…. Italy… I guess?"

"For fuck's sa—wait, my Bruder is there, right?"

"You mean Ludwig?" Antonio questions, before he nods. "Si!"

"Wait, so that means that you're at that guy Feliciano's place, right?"

"Si!" Antonio beams. "You know Feliciano too? Talk about a small world!"

Another pause. For a moment, the Spaniard can picture an incredulous look on the man's face despite having never seen — or, rather, having _remembered_ seen — the man before.

"Mein gott, Antonio! You really got yourself into the fucking gutters!" The man shouts, sounding both worried and angry at the same time. "Look, I'm going to call Francis and have him check up on you. And then, cause I'm a fucking awesome friend, I'm gonna head over there to save your ass too. Clear, Antonio?"

"But…" Antonio's smile falters again. "But I'm not Antonio…"

"'You're not'…?!" Increible repeats, scoffs. "Well, who do you think you are then?"

"Toni." The Spaniard chirps. "I'm Lovi's roommate and… I guess you could say that I'm his part-time maid—"

"Part-time maid?! Part-time _maid_?!" Increible shouts, before a sound resembling a cackle escapes from him. "Like hell you are! That Lovi dick is just some dick pulling your—"

"Please don't call Lovino a dick." Antonio finds himself saying for reasons he does not quite understand. It is not the voice at the back of his head that has caused him to say such a thing; rather, it is the strange, burning sensation in his chest.

" _What_." Increible says thickly, almost confusedly. "Ugh. Look. My name is Gilbert. Gilbert Beilschmidt. I know you. And you are not 'Toni'."

Antonio's smile falters again. The smile turns to an all out frown when he hears Senor Increible — Gilbert, rather — struggle with something on the other end of the line. Metal resounds against concrete again followed by a loud swear, a shout — "No, no, no! That's not where the engine goes!... Of course, I know where the engine goes! I know everything!"

"Uhm…"

"You are not 'Toni'." Gilbert finally shouts, pants, heaves. "Your name is Antonio Fernandez Carriedo."

 **Si! Finally!**

As the syllables of name are stated loudly, firmly, and clearly, Antonio finds a strange dizziness overtake him. A strange dizziness that seems to originate from the very back of his mind. He can feel it pushing, pushing, pushing back there. Wanting to come out.

Very slowly and meaningfully he repeats the name—

"Antonio Fernandez Carriedo?"

At that moment, two things occur at the same time.

One, the phone call drops abruptly and suddenly. Antonio thinks he hears Gilbert shout "What the hell, you guys?! My phone! Antoni—" right before the call ends.

Two, the cell phone that Antonio holds is smacked out of his hand and clatters noisily onto the floor where it is abruptly smashed to pieces by a very angry foot.

 **You. Have. Got. To. Be. Kidding. Me.**

At the sound of the phone cracking to pieces, Feliciano runs into the room and recoils at what he sees.

Lovino Vargas, hair still dripping wet from the shower, stands above the remnants of the phone with a redenned and panicked expression. Ludwig and Antonio stand several feet away from him. Although they wear varying expressions — Ludwig looks down-right angry and Antonio looks utterly confused, they are both staring at the same two things. Lovino and the smashed phone.

 **That** _ **brat**_ **! He ought to be taught a lesson… No, I need to calm down and think. Gilbert at least knows where I am now, and he'll most likely tell Francis. It was not all a loss.**

"What… the _hell_?!" Ludwig shouts as he dives to the ground and picks up the remnants of his phone. "Why did you do that for?!"

"Who the hell were you talking to, you bastardo?!" Lovino ignores Ludwig and snaps at Antonio.

"L-Ludwig's brother…" Antonio stutters, before he shakes his head and gestures to the German's angered form. "Lovino… Why did you do that for?"

"I…" Lovino gapes, face reddening as he realizes that he he is the center of fear — the fear of Antonio discovering his true identity (the man had just said his full, real name for crying out loud!) — that has been building in his chest up until that moment suddenly dissipates leaving a strangely empty yet familiar sensation in its wake. Familiar because he has been in a situation like this one before.

"I… I'm sure Fratello didn't mean it!" Feliciano cries as he rushes over to Ludwig's side. Smiling nervously, he pries the broken device out of the man's hands and attempts to fit the jagged pieces back together. "I'm sure we can fix it…. We just need lots of tape and glue or something!"

 **Querido, it needs a lot more than that.**

The anger in Ludwig's expression dissipates as the man registers the Italian's flustered antics. Grumbling with a sigh, he rubs his eyes and then his face.

"Well, I have a warranty on it so it should be fine." He grumbles, before he fixes a somewhat biting look in Lovino's direction once more. "But I hope there is a very good reason for why you did what you just did."

"I…" Lovino hesitates. "I thought it was a bomb."

 **Oh. This should be amusing.**

Ludwig stares. Antonio stares. Feliciano stares. Lovino punches himself internally in the face.

"Dios mio." Antonio raises his brows as if he has reached some sort of realization. "You're right, Lovi… It did look like a bomb!"

 **What.**

"What." Ludwig repeats thickly.

"Y-Yeah, you bastard." Lovino snaps, crossing his arms. "It's your own fault that you own a relic of a phone. It looks older than my fucking grandma. Right, Feli?"

 _You're on your brother's side, right?_

Feliciano stares at Lovino for a moment and glances down at the phone, before sweating and quickly averting his gaze. The sting of betrayal — although rather comical — is sharp and fresh.

Lovino glowers at his brother. _Fine be that way. Who needs you anyways. Not me. I don't know why I'm even fucking surprised._

"Still, Roma," Antonio clips, placing his hands on his hips and failing to look serious (Lovino almost snorts at the sight of it), "you should apologize, even though I know you didn't mean it. It's the honorable thing to do!"

For a moment, at the word "apologize", Lovino finds his blood running cold. An old memory scratches at the back of his mind. A terrible memory. He recoils at the thought of it, while Feliciano — who appears to remember it as well — trembles at it.

Biting his lip, the former Italian whirls around and glares a pillage of hateful daggers in the Spaniard's direction. For a moment, for some reason, he has pictured at the back of his mind the image of the man gazing at him with disdain — even though the man has _never_ fixed such a look upon it before.

The present soon seeps in, however, and Lovino finds that the man is beaming at him with what he figures is the man's attempt at an encouraging expression. And just like that he suddenly feels his heated anger and indignation and feelings of betrayal sizzle away. The very fact irritates him for some reason, but — irritation aside — something within him does not want to disappoint the man.

 _Ugh, what the fuck._

"Well," Ludwig clears his throat uncomfortably — it is evident that he wishes to diffuse the situation, "I suppose—

"Yeah, well," Lovino interrupts him grudgingly, crossing his arms and averting his gaze, "I'm sorry, alright? You have insurance so it should be fine… Sorry."

There is a pause of shocked silence in which Feliciano and Ludwig gape and stare. Antonio, on the other hand, seems to brighten in this silence. There is something indescribable inscribed in the man's expression. Lovino tries to ignore it, tries to ignore the strange feeling that that expression causes within him.

"And I'm not apologizing 'cause you told me too." He snaps angrily at the Spaniard. "I just don't want the potato bastardo to…" He grumbles and mumbles indiscernible words.

"Ay, Lovi—

"Come on, bastardo." Lovino grumbles, pointing an angry finger towards the man and then jerking his head towards the bedroom. "Because you followed my idiot brother to my shitty family and because you're a fucking idiot, you messed up your bandages."

 **When I get my hands on you…**

With a knowing expression, Antonio follows him into the bedroom.

Ludwig and Feliciano stare after them — the former with confusion and the latter with an unreadable expression.

"I… I can't believe that actually happened." Ludwig mutters. When he hears no response from his companion, he turns and gives a questioning look. "Feliciano…?

"Ah…" Feliciano shakes his head. "It's nothing."

In a second,his light smile is back on his face. Something about the smile feels off, Ludwig realizes; but before he can question it, the Italian suddenly whisks him away to the kitchen for some "taste testing" and later to the waterways outside to gondola-ing "as promised".

…

Antonio, with his usual smiling expression, watches as Lovino digs out the first aid kit from the closet. Sudden overwhelming affection bubbles in his chest at the sight of the Italian's slightest gestures. Actually, such affection has been bursting from his chest ever since he witnessed the the man push down his pride and apologize to the German. He doesn't quite understand it, but he knows that he has realized that the Italian is wonderfully dynamic and surprising and—

"S-So what did the potato bastard's brother say to you, dammit?"

Lovino asks such a snappish question as he angrily plops down right next to the Spaniard. _Just my luck that the fucking potato bastard's brother knows Toni,_ he thinks. He gives the man a hesitant and almost worried look, but the look goes unnoticed. The man is too busy trying to think of answer to the asked question.

"Ay, I'm not really sure… He said something about… being awesome…? I don't know… he was really funny though!" Antonio laughs, before he adds with an expression of surprise: "He seemed to know Francis though." The man turns to the Italian curiously. "Do _you_ know Francis?"

"What…? No!" Lovino snaps with a scowl. "Nico told me about the bastard." (He'd called the transporter angrily after he'd heard the gist of the Famiglia escapade story from Feliciano. Needless to say, Nico apologized many times before Lovino stopped swearing at him.) His scowl deepens. "What else did potato bastard's brother say?"

"Well, I think he said his name was Gilbert or something." Antonio continues, scratching his head. "And he kept saying that my name was Antonio Fernandez Carriedo."

The man says the name so flawlessly that Lovino's heart almost stops.

 **Dios mio. That** _ **is**_ **your name!**

"People keep thinking I'm that guy for some reason." Antonio says, his expression becoming perturbed. "But that can't be right. You said my name was Toni, right?" He pauses and peers into the Italian's face questioningly. "Lovi…?"

"Y-You don't even fucking know your name by now?" Lovino shouts, stutters, snaps as he shoots up to a stand and almost angrily pushes back the mop of dark hair that covers the man's scar. (He tries his best to ignore the shiver that goes up his spine at the skin contact). "What are you? A fucking toddler, dammi…"

He trails off suddenly, abruptly, and his eyes widen.

Antonio blinks up at him. "Hm… ? What is it, Lovi?"

Lovino doesn't answer. Instead, he stares wide-eyed at the man's olive temple — at the scar that runs along the length of it.

The scar has become a faint rosy color — an emphasis on "faint". The thing has long exited the scabbing stage; and it's edges now blend in with the man's olive skin.

"Roma…?"

"Y-Your head… It's almost completely healed now…" Lovino finally stammers, pulling away from the man.

Something weird twinges uncomfortably in his chest.

Fear…?

Is he unhappy with the fact that the man's injury has almost completely healed?

 _What if he fucking starts remembering—_

"Wow, really…? " Antonio murmurs in surprise, before he adds with a teasing chuckle, "Well that's must be because you're such a good nurse, Lovi!"

 _Stop being so fucking selfish,_ the Italian thinks angrily to himself as he registers the man's expression. _What? You don't want the idiot to get better? Talk about being a dick._ Such a thought conflicts with other thoughts that arise in his mind. _What the fuck. Why do you even care? The sooner he heals, the sooner you can get rid of the bastard. Don't forget that he's the don of that family, dammit!_ And _Fuck me. What the fucking hell. I can't get my head on straight, dammit._

"I'm not your fucking nurse!" is all he manages.

Antonio simply laughs before he folds his hands beneath his chin and gives Lovino a contemplative and troubled look. The expression does not seem to fit on the man's face.

"What is it?" Lovino asks for reasons he does not know. He tells himself that he shouldn't care for what troubles the man, but he is a fool and ignores his own warnings — it seems as if he always does such things when it involves the man.

"I'm just thinking…"

"Well, you shouldn't." Lovino snaps automatically, sinking with an indifferent expression onto the edge of the bed. _What the hell is wrong with me lately…_

"Ay, I'm serious, Lovi." Antonio laughs lightly, before his expression becomes somewhat troubled again. "... I was thinking — what if I'm really this Antonio Fernandez Carriedo person that everyone thinks I am?"

 **You are!**

"You're not." Lovino snaps a little too quickly. He feels a strange twinge of guilt for some reason, but he brushes it aside.

"But… But what if I am?" Antonio says, his expression becoming livid and bright and almost concerned. "What if — before I got amnesia — I was this Antonio person and I lied to you and told you that my name was Toni because I was actually someone really famous or someone really dangerous!"

 **Yes. Yes! You're on the right track!**

Lovino isn't quite sure how to react. His heart skips a beat again.

"Ah!" Antonio exclaims as his expression becomes more intense. "What if I was some kind of assassin or something? It makes sense, doesn't it? What if Ludwig's brother and Francis and — dios mio! — even Bella are assassins too? What if my father is the head of some large syndicate?"

Lovino pauses.

Something about this sounds familiar.

"Ay, Lovi, what if I killed my father to take over his business? Maybe that's why I didn't tell you my real name, because I'm a murderer! What if I have a fiancee or something who helped me to take down my father; and since I'm here, he thinks that I've betrayed him and he's out to…"

Lovino's eyebrow starts twitching.

"Dios mio, Lovi, what if I'm trapped in some sort of love triangle and you—"

"You idiota!" Lovino shouts incredulously as he smacks the man upside the head. "You're literally fucking monologuing the entire shitty plot of that damned telenovela!"

 **This is shameful…**

"Lovi, that hurt!" Antonio pouts, covering his head; before he turns to the man with an utterly shocked expression. "... Y-You're right."

Lovino stares at him incredulously. "You're telling me that you didn't fucking realize that you were doing it?"

"No!" Antonio exclaims, the look of utter shock still plain on his face.

Lovino's face twitches once more — his eyebrows and then his lips. The next thing he knows he is howling with laughter, and Antonio is gaping at him with a reddening face. Quite the role reversal.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" The Italian cries, wiping a tear away from his eye. "You're fucking helpless!"

"Ay, Lovi…" Antonio sighs with a frown, before his lips twitch upwards into a small smile. He finds the Italian's laugh absolutely infectious and soon finds himself forgetting his previous worry.

Lovino catches the man's smiling gaze and quickly tries to put a stopper on his laugh. He then recalls the subject at hand and frowns uncomfortably, hesitantly. "Look…" He sighs, turning away from the man and trying to scowl once more. "You are who you think you are, alright? If you think that you're Toni and feel like you're Toni, then you're Toni. Same thing with the Antonio thing. People are always changing or whatever so it doesn't really matter who you were before or… whatever..."

 _What the hell am I even saying._

"I don't fucking know." The Italian continues with a grumble. He scowls as he feels the Spanish man's gaze prick his skin.

 _Don't think about that shit._

There is a pause of silence.

"Ah, you're right, Lovi!" Antonio hums. "That's a really good way to think!"

 **But you're not thinking! Dios mio. This is irritating.**

Lovino turns to him questioningly.

"Since I feel like Toni, I'll be Toni!"

"Ugh." The Italian grimaces. "How can you say shit like that without feeling embarrassed?"

Despite the bite of his words, he cannot help but feel relief at the man's words. And then as he hears Antonio's characteristic nonchalant laugh, Lovino is hit with the realization:

He does not want Antonio to regain his memories.

* * *

Day 17

A very disgruntled Ludwig and a very somber Feliciano depart on this day for the university.

Antonio showers them with Spanish cuisines and foods an hour before they depart. Lovin, after discussing something seemingly serious with Feliciano (Antonio picks up the words "relocate" and "the old place" and "business") for an hour, simply grumbles a quiet goodbye a couple minutes before they leave.

* * *

Day 19

Observations by Unknown Observer

[Data Set]

No. of times Lovino has said the word 'Toni': 256

No. of times Toni has said the word 'Lovi': 908

No. of times Lovino has referred toToni as an 'idiota': 563

No. of times Lovino has referred to Toni as 'bastardo': 42

No. of times Toni has spent daydreaming about Lovino: 102

No. of times Lovino has watched Toni from afar: 102

No. of tomatoes Lovino and Toni have shared: 23

Heart-rate of Lovino under normal circumstances: 55 beats per minute

Heart-rate of Toni under normal circumstances: 57 beats per minute

Heart-rate of Lovino and Toni when in each other's presences: 70 beats per minute

No. of times Lovino is red-faced around Toni: 689

No. of times Lovino swears at Toni: 689

No. of times Toni laughs in response: 689

No. of hours spent watching La Casa Y Aqua: Amor, Cinco: 3

No. of times Lovino has fallen in love: 2

No. of times Toni has fallen in love: 1

[Analysis]

The correlation between the numerical data presented and feelings of 'happiness' in both individuals is positive and closely linear(r = 0.99). Possibility of lurking variables is low. Cause and effect relation most likely.

[Hypothesis]

Lovino and Antonio are in love.

[Conclusion]

Lovino and Antonio are in love with each other.

* * *

Day 20

"Why are we moving again?" Antonio asks Lovino several days after Ludwig and Feliciano leave for the university. He watches as the scowling Italian messily throws apparel after apparel of clothing into a large suitcase.

"Because…" Lovino begins. And for a moment, he considers lying plainly; but he finally grumbles, "It's business."

"Business?" Antonio repeats. " _Your_ business? Do I not get a say in whether I stay or go?"

The question catches Lovino off guard. He has never expected such words to come out of the man's mouth. He resists turning his head.

Logically speaking, the man has no choice but to come. If he stays and is found by a party, there are only two ends: one, he is assassinated by the hitman; two, he is found by his famiglia/friends and ditzly spills information to them. (Logically speaking, Lovino should have killed the man a long time ago) Logically speaking, Lovino should not feel hurt that that the man has even said such a thing. But, he does.

"I-I don't fucking care." Lovino snaps, angrily shoving another crumpled shirt into his suitcase. "Stay if you want but that means you're paying the shittily overpriced rent by yourself which is probably going to be fucking impossible because—"

"Lovi." Antonio says in a strange voice that causes the Italian to turn. "I was just joking."

The man wears an expression of slight amusement as he leans against the wall. The expression sparks irritation and embarrassment in the Italian's chest; and he prepares to retaliate with angry words when all of a sudden—

"I will follow you wherever you go, Lovino."

Antonio says such a thing so casually, so effortlessly, that for a moment Lovino believes that the man has always said such things to him. Of course, the moment does not last.

Scowling intensely and slamming his suitcase shut, the Italian storms out of the bedroom.

"Did you get that line from another shitty telenovela, bastardo?" The Italian snaps.

"No, I thought of it myself." Antonio says, following the man out of the bedroom. He nearly runs into the man when the latter stops short in front of the window.

The _stupid_ fluttering and dizzying sensation hits the Italian again.

"What… What the fuck is that supposed to _mean_?" Lovino snaps again, turning on his heels with a red face. "Don't you think for a second that I'm going to let you follow me around like a puppy dog for the rest of my life!" He pauses, adds for a better measure: "You'll probably scare away all my hot dates away with your ugly mug, dammit!"

"That was mean, Lovi." Antonio pouts somewhat in response, before he smiles again. "But I meant what I said."

Flabbergasted, Lovino stares at the man. Tries to ignore the strange feeling of happiness that bubbles in his chest at the firmness of the man's words. _Don't be stupid_ , he tells his himself. _The man's a fuckin don._ And, _he doesn't mean what he says._ And even, _it's just a fuckin phase until he gets his memor—_

He doesn't finish the thought.

"By the way, Lovi…" The man says suddenly, abruptly as he side glances out of the window.

The sky is cloudy, and the streets are empty. A clear sign of coming rain.

"I've been wondering… Why don't you like you're family?"

 **You really shouldn't like them either. Look at what they've done to you… me.**

Once again, Lovino is caught off guard.

"They seem like nice people — I mean, I know that the way they act in front of me probably may not be the way they act in front of you or Feli, but you always seem unhappy when you hear about them…"

"They're fucking annoying that's why." Lovino snaps in response suddenly feeling irritable instead of whatever he was feeling before. "It's none of your damned business. Why the fuck do you care?" He doesn't even know or understand why he adds the final question.

Antonio stares at him contemplatively for a moment, before he scratches his cheek and toys with one of his curls. He chuckles lightly, almost sheepishly, "Ay, how do I put this… Whenever you talk about your family, you're unhappy… and whenever I see you unhappy, it makes me feel unhappy too. I know it sounds weird, but it's true."

Lovino feels _that_ bubble in his chest again. He opens and closes his mouth wordlessly. The only sound that he is able to make comes from his rapidly beating heart.

"So I was thinking," Antonio continues as he beams brightly, "that maybe if we talked about it or if you said what you felt, you'd feel better about it!"

"'Talk about it'?" Lovino recoils and then scowls. "I already told you didn't I, bastardo? I don't do feelings."

"Si, I remember." The Spaniard nods, his smile not faltering. "But I was thinking that if you honestly say what you feel and what's on your mind, then you'll feel a lot lighter. I mean, I always say what's on my mind and you always say that I'm way too happy, so it must work!"

 **What he is referring to is called catharsis. It's a relieving of emotional tensions. A psychiatric practice. It's quite a good tool to use when you want someone to tell you something.**

"So you're saying you want me to be a smiling idiot like you." Lovino grumbles with quirked brows.

Antonio's smiling expression becomes a panicked one. Lovino does not think he has ever seen such an expression on the man's face before; and he is taken aback. The Spaniard takes a step forward flusteredly and shakes his head.

"T-That's not what I meant, Lovi!" The Spaniard stutters, before his eyes glisten and he says firmly, precisely, "I… I like you just the way you are! You… You are perfect! But I want to see you happy!"

The man becomes flustered again — confused almost. Lovino himself is confused, because for a moment he thought he heard the man call him 'perfect'. Realization settles in and Lovino watches with a slowly reddening face as Antonio points to the window and throws the thing open.

A cool gust of wind billows into the room followed by soft flecks of drizzling rain. Antonio throws his curly head out into the square of sky, presses his palms against the sill, and shouts out in a clear and musical voice, "Shouting out how I feel like this makes me feel good, and I want Lovi to feel good too!"

Lovino recoils at the sight and dashes to the open window. Scrambling, he pulls the man back inside, grabs him by the scruff, and shakes him roughly.

"You idiota, what the hell are you thinking?!" Lovino shouts. "Are you stupid?!"

 _Do you want one of those hitmen to come and blow your brains out?!_

The loudly spoken words cause Antonio's expression to brighten.

"See?" The man asks. "Doesn't that feel good?" He gently pries Lovino's stiff fingers off of his shirt and turns to the window once more. Leans against the sill. Cups his hands around his mouth. Shouts. "I want to know why Lovino calls me 'idiota' and 'stupid' all the time!"

Lovino recoils again. Runs up to the Spaniard's side. Smacks the man upside the head. Tries to pull him away from the window.

"You idiot!" The Italian scowls. "Someone'll hear your loud ass mouth!"

"Ay, Lovi, but look!" Antonio laughs that musical laugh of his that causes Lovino's mind to short circuit. "No one is outside because it is raining!"

Despite the ridiculousness of the man's argument, Lovino finds himself glancing down onto the cobblestone streets. They are wet and sleek from the rain. And they are empty. Devoid of people.

"That still doesn't fucking mean you can shout like you're from a fucking crazy house!" Lovino snaps.

"Yes, that's the spirit, Lovi!" The Spaniard nods firmly, before he faces the square window and shouts once more. "I really want to know why Lovino doesn't like his family!"

As soon as those words escape the man's lips, the flusterdness, the irritation, and all of the other emotions that Lovino has tried to keep pinned down ever since the night Antonio returned from visiting his famiglia — no, ever since that time twelve years ago — come suddenly and abruptly bursting forward.

"You want to know fucking why?!" Lovino half shouts, half snaps, surprising himself. "It's because they fucking suck. They don't give a shit about me!"

Antonio freezes. Stares at Lovino with widened eyes.

"They pretend that they do, and they act like they care what you say; and then when the tables turn, they point fingers, turn around, and call you a fucking liar! They stop believing you!" Lovino continues, spitting out his words in frustration. "And then they act like they pity your shitty ass — act like nothing happened, act like they give a shit about you again… like… what…" Lovino falters, shaking his head and fisting his hands. "... what the _fuck_ , dammit?"

Antonio gazes at him with softening eyes. Lovino feels the gaze prick his skin and realizes that he has just poured out one of his deepest internal frustrations to this man — this _don_ — whom he has only known for three weeks. His eyes widen and he pulls back.

Exposed.

He feels so exposed.

How did this even happen?

How could he let this happen?!

Burning heat begins to prick at the Italian's eyes as he thinks these things, as he is smothered in the Spaniard's soft gaze; but then—

"Lovino's family sounds like they're jerks!"

— Antonio shouts such a thing from the top of his lungs out of the window. He pauses, and then adds almost as if it is a second thought—

— "Except for Feli and Lovino's grandfather because Feli is adorable and Lovino likes them!"

The man's voice is so energetic — so electrifying, so vigorous — that Lovino once again feels himself being pulled along for the ride. Just like that night all of those weeks ago.

Without thinking and while wearing a scowl, Lovino cups his hands around his mouth and shouts loudly angrily out into the greying sky—

"Why the hell do you only come to me when you fucking need something?! You're not even wondering why the hell I haven't visited for five years?!"

"I'm sad that Feli and Ludwig are gone!"

"You all fucking suck! Am I not good enough for anything else but that fucking job now because of that one fucking thing?! I'm not just some side hoe that you can just ask to fucking hook up when you fuck shit up!"

A laugh escapes from Antonio's lips as the two phrases escape from the Italian's mouth. The latter whips his head around with a scowl.

"Why the hell are you laughing, dammit?!"

"'Side hoe'?" Antonio repeats Lovino's previously said phrase as he wipes a tear away from his eye. "When you say that, I'm kind of concerned about what kind of relationship you have with your family members, Lovi."

"Ugh,"Lovino sticks out his tongue in disgust, "why the fuck would you even think that, you creep?"

The Spaniard simply laughs again and turns to the window.

"I think Lovi is funny!" He shouts.

Lovino stares at the man incredulously, before he smirks and then shouts: "Well, Toni is as funny as a rock. He's like those sad, washed-up comedians you see on the streets!"

Antonio pouts slightly. "Usually you are supposed to compliment somebody when they give you a compliment, si?"

"You want a compliment?" Lovino raises a brow testingly.

"Si, that would be nice!" Antonio grins brightly.

"Fine." Lovino huffs and then shouts, "Maybe Toni isn't an idiot after all!"

"I don't feel like that was a compliment…"

"That's the greatest compliment you're ever going to get from me, dammit."

"Ay, alright." Antonio sighs in mock defeat, before he faces the window and yells, "Lovi is really smart! And he's an amazing cook!"

"Toni's cooking is slightly less shitty than before!"

"Lovi is an amazing artist!"

Lovino stares at the man incredulously, before he retaliates viciously: "... The tomatoes Toni draws look like a mix between a fucking apple and a piece of charcoal!"

"Lovi has a nice laugh!"

"I… Toni's laugh is… _Okay,_ dammit. It's pretty shitty, but…it's not _that_ shitty."

The stuttered phrase causes Antonio to pout again; then there is a mischievous glint in his eye. Grinning, he shouts, "I think Lovino should really learn how to clean up after himself!"

"Hey!" Lovino snaps. "Watch it!" He pauses, adding with a sly smirk and shout: "I think Toni needs to stop wearing those gay aprons! I know he thinks he looks hot in them, but he doesn't!"

"Hey!" Antonio laughs with mock hurt. "I'll have you know that I _am_ gay and I _do_ look very hot in those aprons!"

"Yeah?" Lovino quirks a brow. "In what alternate universe?" He pauses and adds quickly, "I meant the hotness, not the gay thing."

 _In this universe,_ Lovino finds himself thinking despite himself. He pushes the thought away angrily — no, embarrassedly.

"In this universe!" Antonio laughs in response. He turns to the window again, puts on a contemplative expression (Lovino does not think such an expression is cute at all. No. Thinking things as cute is Antonio's thing.). "Hm, other than that, I really can't think of anything else 'bad' to say about you…"

"T-That's… That's 'cause I'm fucking perfect." Lovino grunts despite his confusion.

 _There are a shitton of bad things you could say about me. You're just too… fucking stupid… and ugh…_ _nice_ _to think of them._

"You, on the other hand..." Lovino huffs, too entangled in his thoughts to really think, "I could write a fucking book about about your shittiness, bastardo!"

He catches his blunder a little too late.

 _Shit. That's not what I meant. Fuck._

He side glances at the man. Sees that the man is beaming. For once, is not surprised but accustomed.

"You'd write a book about me?" Antonio exclaims with strange surprise that strays in between genuity and sarcasm. " I'm touched!"

"Ugh." Lovino grumbles, crossing his arms. "You're fucking weird."

"I think Lovino is weird too!" Antonio shouts out the window.

"Not as fucking weird as this idiota!" Lovino snaps loudly in turn.

"Who said being weird was a bad thing?" Antonio laughs in response.

Grumbling and rolling his eyes, Lovino lets the man win the round.

And thus the shouting pattern continues, until suddenly and abruptly everything comes to a grinding halt. It takes just three words to cut the atmosphere in two. A three worded admission that is slipped out so passionately, so excitably, that it almost goes unnoticed—

"I think I like Lovino!"

 **What?**

"And I— wait, what?!"

Lovino stares at the Spaniard incredulously. He is sure that he has heard wrong. There is no way. No way, no way.

"What the fuck did _you_ just _say_?"

The sound of Lovino's and Antonio's rapidly beating hearts intermingle with the quiet drizzle of the rain outside the window.

Antonio looks confused — almost as if he has not fully comprehended what he has just said. He pauses and seems to search his mind for a comprehensible answer. Finds it. Turns towards the Italian with widened and sparkling eyes.

"Lovino…"

The Spaniard takes a step forward. Lovino takes a step back with a furiously blushing face.

 _You've got to be shitting me. This can't be happening. This can't be…_

 **Dios mio. This cannot be happening.**

"Amor!" The Spaniard shouts suddenly, fiercely, causing Lovino to jump.

"A-amor?" Lovino repeats almost in disbelief.

"Amor, Lovi, amor!"

And suddenly Antonio is only a foot away from him and has interlocked their fingers. An electrifying spark runs throughout Lovino's body at the touch. For a strangely vague moment, he wonders if the Spaniard can feel it too.

Antonio leans in closely, so closely that they can almost taste each other's breaths.

 _Don't you dare fucking say it! We've already been over this shit! This… This can't be happening!_

"Lovino Vargas…."

— Antonio breathes — and the man is so close that the Italian can almost see the different shades of green in the man's eyes —

"Te amo. I… I love you."

' **Love'!? Dios mio. I am done listening to this.  
**

"L- _love_?!" Lovino repeats in horror. His most dreaded word.

"Love!" Antonio repeats fiercely. "I've finally realized it, Lovi! I love—"

Before he can finish, his face is suddenly, roughly, and abruptly pushed away.

"Oh no, you fucking don't!" Lovino snaps, shouts, screams as his mind spins and spins and spins.

"B-But I do!" Comes Antonio's muffled reply.

And the man says it with such determination that Lovino is almost swept away. Almost. Before the Italian can even respond angrily and logical, however, the Spaniard rips away the hand that Lovino has planted on his face and places it on his own chest. Clamps it there tightly.

Thump-thump. Thump.

"W-What the hell are you—"

Antonio then places his free hand on the Italian's chest. He presses down.

"I know I love you, Lovino!" He says fiercely, brightly, as his eyes take in all of the Italian's features. "You are one of most beautiful people that I've ever seen! One of the cutest!"

"I-I'm literally one of the _only_ people that you've ever fucking seen!"

"And dios mio, Lovi, you're so full of life and emotions! I want to understand you more!" Antonio continues gushing, seeming unable to stop. "And… And I love watching telenovelas with you and talking with you! And… I like it when you change my bandages — not because you're changing them, but because we get to be so close to each other! And — I know this is selfish of me but — I don't like it when you leave because I always feel sad when you're gone. And I…" The man shakes his head. "Dios mio, it's so hard to explain!"

Lovino's head spins.

His heart feels like it's about to leap out of his chest. But it's not only _his_ heart that is beating almost as rapidly as machine gun fire. He feels _another_ heart thumping just as fast just beneath his fingertips.

"But, if you want physical proof, Lovi," Antonio continues, pressing Lovino's hand more firmly against his chest, "whenever I'm around you, my heart always beats so fast! See! You can feel it!"

The Italian can indeed feel it. The heat seeping out from the man's chest. The rapid thumping. The rapid thumping that seems to be perfectly in sync with _his_ own heartbeat.

Antonio seems to feel it too — Lovino's rapidly beating heart, that is. His emerald eyes widen in surprise; and then his already intensely bright expression brightens even more. A moment later, his olive cheeks tint the slightest shade of pink.

 _Oh, fuck no!_ Lovino thinks as he comes to the realization.

"Ay, L-Lovi," Antonio exclaims, "your heart is beating really fast too! Do you—"

"Fuck no!" Lovino screams, snaps, as he tears himself out of the Spanish man's hold. He scrambles backwards, shakes his head furiously, tries his best to ignore the look of surprise — no, is that _hurt_? — that flashes across the Spanish man's face. "I already fucking told you not to get mushy with me, dammit!"

"I…" Antonio's smiling expression falters; and he becomes sheepish. "I'm sorry, Lovi, but I can't help what I feel."

"W-Well, you better change your attitude quick, bastard!" The Italian snaps, pointing an accusatory finger in no direction in particular; he knows that he is being absolutely childish and dramatic and unreasonable, but he cannot stop himself. And he hates himself for it. "Because there is no way in hell that I'm going to be your bitch, got it?! This isn't a fucking telenovela! I don't fucking love you — hell, I don't even fucking _like_ you! I _hate_ you! I hate taking care of your ass!"

 **Same to you, brat.**

As soon as the last two phrases escape from Lovino's mouth, Antonio's expression morphs into one of utter surprise. But Lovino does not see the surprise; what he imagines is disappointment, hurt. And seeing the man so disappointed and hurt like that causes Lovino to crumple.

He immediately wishes to turn back time, to take back his words, to take back his lies, to apologize — but he does not. Instead, with a scowling expression and with a slew of angry swear words, Lovino storms into his bedroom and slams the door shut.

Pressing his back against the cold frame of the door, he slinks down onto the wooden floor, holds his head, and groans. He rubs his eyes, bites his lips, ruffles his hair.

Guilt. Guilt is clear as day. And embarrassment. And utter confusion. Disbelief. Indignation.

 _A fucking amnesia don who people call 'the Conquistador' because he's fucking batshit just told me that he liked me — what the actual fuck?! How the fuck am I supposed to handle this shit?! And what..._

"What the hell is wrong with me?" Lovino bites his lip and covers his mouth. "Why the fuck am I happy for?"

…

While Lovino is busily dealing with his three-way conversation, Francis Bonnefoy receives a rather pressing phone call from an old friend.

The Frenchman is slowly making his way through the Plaza Hotel and up to his suite when his phone belts out a beautiful chorus of French melodies. He reaches into his pocket, gracefully apologizes to those who walk around him, frowns at the unknown number listed on the thing's screen, and answers:

"Bonjour?"

"Fran! It's me — Gilbert!"

"Gil?" The Frenchman blinks in surprise, stopping short in the middle of the hall he is walking down. "Mon dieu! I've been trying to reach your for ages! What happened?"

"Long story short, my phone got smashed to pieces by a falling piece of junk scrap metal. Couldn't make the international phone call with my guys' less awesome phones... " The man replies with a huff. "But that's not the point! It's about Antonio!"

"Ah, yes!" Francis raises a brow as he leans against the cream-colored walls of the hall and crosses his arms. "I was going to tell you: I saw Tonio a couple of days ago. He was acting very stra—"

"I know!" Gilbert exclaims. "He told me!"

"He did?" Francis questions in surprise. He unfolds himself from the wall and begins strolling to his suite once more. "You've talked to him then?"

"Yes, I've talked to him!" Gilbert snaps. (Francis thinks he can hear the sound of rumbling engines and the whipping of air from the other end of the line.) "He's staying with my Bruder's friend's... I think. Fuck, I don't know — but, Fran, the guy has fucking amnesia!"

Francis stops in his tracks. Stares at the phone incredulously.

"Y'know, Gil," the man frowns and then sighs dramatically, pressing the device back up to his ear, "that isn't very mature of you to say given the situation."

"What?" Gilbert snaps again on the opposite end of hte line. "Hey you Frenchie, I am very mature! People always come flocking to me for advice! I'm called the White Guru! And I'm not screwing with you! Look, I told him that Arthur had an eye on his Armada, and he just laughed!"

Francis freezes, wide-eyed.

"He thinks he's some 'Toni' guy. Hell, he thinks he's some Lovi dick's maid or something! I don't think he even has a fucking clue that he's the head of the Castile!"

"M-Mon dieu!" Francis stutters, leaning against a wall for support. (Those who walk down the halls eye him strangely). "No wonder he was acting so strange when I was visiting the Oenetrus household!"

"Wait, _that's_ where he met you?!" Gilbert shouts incredulously. "How in the world did he survive that? — I mean, sure he's kind of awesome, but he's nowhere close to awesome right now!"

"He was… disguised…"

"Disguised?" Gilbert repeats.

"Yes, as a woman."

A cackle resonates from the phone causing Francis to grimace slightly.

"Mein gott, that's so rich! Oh my god! Did you take a picture? Did you?!"

"If you are making fun of the fact that he was dressed as a women, I'm going to have to look down on you." Francis clips. "Because he was quite beautiful."

"Whatever, you pompous ass." Gilbert grumbles. "You didn't think it was weird that he was crossdressing in the presence of a family that he has an eye on?"

"Can you blame me?" Francis sighs. "You know how… _fixated_ he tends to get on things nowadays. I thought he was acting in order to get his fingers into the family. I saw him with a Vargas — a heir to the Oenetrus Famiglia."

"Seriously?!" — Francis can picture the man's befuddled expression — "Did the guy not recognize him as the head of the Castiles or something?!"

"I suppose not." Francis shakes his head daintily as his expression becomes creased with worry. "This is not good, Gil. We need to find Antonio before anyone else hears of this."

"I'm on it already 'cause I'm just that amazing." Gilbert snaps. "As soon as I get into contact with my Bruder — okay, he is not picking up his phone or anything, like what the hell?! He can't just ignore his awesome big brother like that! — I'll find out where this mystery apartment is and I'll save his ass!"

"I'm going to keep an eye out as well." Francis nods and quickens his pace; his eyes lock onto the door to his suite at the end of the hall. "To make things worse, that unstylish Brit is in this town looking for poor Tonio—"

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?!"

At the sound of the accusatory question from behind, Francis's phone slides out of his grasps. It clatters noisily onto the tiled floor; and the sound is followed by muffled, confused, German shouts from its speakers. But Francis does not notice this. He is too focused on the horrors unfolding at hand to even think of Gilbert.

"No, no, no," Francis mutters to himself as he shakes his light head, "it would be too cruel of God to smite me with such horrors. There is simply no way that that unstylish Arthur Kirkland is standing behind me!"

"Hey, show some decency!" Comes the snappish voice again. "I'm right here, you know?"

Francis swallows and turns on his heels. Prays to God that he is just having a nightmare, but alas—

There a somewhat short blonde man, adorned in a crisp monochrome business suit, stands at the center of the hall. His eyebrows are thick and furrowed and his green eyes gleaming with distaste. The man's arms are crossed firmly and he, as always, is adorned with a disapproving expression.

He is Arthur Kirkland. A businessman. A gentleman. A mobster. An acquaintance. No, a business rival. No, an enemy.

"What are _you_ doing here?!" Francis shouts in horror and disgust.

"I-I could ask you the same thing!" Arthur stutters back at him, before he recoils. "And if I recall correctly, I did ask _you_ such a thing first!"

Francis straightens himself. Raises his head.

"I am here," he explains, looking the Brit up and down with a mixture of contempt and disdain, "because I am temporarily living here."

"Well, I am too!"

There is a pause.

Arthur points to the door leading to suite number 246. Next to it is suite number 248. Francis's suite.

The pause lengthens.

If the situation were different —meaning, if they were not the faces of large corporations — they would have grabbed each other by the scruff and entered a brawl then and there. Maybe if Arthur carried a gun like he normally did, he would have shot the man then and there too.

But their situation is _not_ different. So instead of doing those things, the two men simply simmer at each other.

"Oh, Arthur, how funny." Francis says tautly. "For a moment there, it looked as if you were saying that the suite next to mine belongs to you."

Arthur laughs dryly. "Oh how funny, Francis! I thought for a moment there you were implying that we were neighbors."

Another pause.

"Why the bloody hell are you in this hotel for?!"

"I could say the same to you!" Francis recoils with indignation. "Don't tell me that you're here to take advantage of Antonio's disappearance, you unrefined _pirate_!"

Arthur recoils as if he has been slapped. His expression then smooths and darkens. "And you're not?"

"Oh, dear Arthur," Francis laughs a dry laugh, "unlike you and — I hate to say it — Antonio, I've realized that the tangible is the thing the fades and the intangible is what remains."

"Yes, but intangible things don't get you anywhere do they?" Arthur scoffs. "Of course, only you would say such immature things to try and sound _mature_ of all things."

"Ah but they certainly do." Francis replies, before his expression becomes mocking. "It really is so sad that you cannot even realize such a simple thing."

Arthur prepares to scowl but then settles on sighing. "I'm not looking for a philosophical chat with you."

"Really, Arthur—"

The addressed man's expression suddenly becomes smug. "Oh, did I mention that I have a meeting with a representative of Antonio's family next week?" When Francis dramatically recoils, his expression becomes even more smug. "I suppose not then. Well, if you'd really like to know, Antonio and I had business matters to deal with prior to his disappearance. You could say that we had somewhat of a partnership going. "

"Tonio…" Francis gasps a gasp resembling one of betrayal. "Did what now…?"

"Oh?" Arthur questions, wearing an expression of utter innocence. "Did he not tell you that? Why… I thought you two were friends." He crosses his arms and sighs. "Well, I admit that we had a little bit of a falling out before the incident, but my partnership with the Castilles still holds."

Before Francis can inquire any further, however, the door to suite number 246 goes flying open. A man with large bright blue-eyes and even larger cowlick steps across the threshold.

Francis recoils at the sight of him. "Mon dieu, Arthur! You brought hi—"

"Dude, Francis!" The bright-eyed man seems to teleport to the Frenchman's side. Without a pause or an ask, he heartily pats the man on the back. "What are you doing here? Don't you gotta company to run?"

"It's 'don't you have'." Arthur quips with a twitching brow.

Both men ignore the man's correction.

"Ah, Alfred." Francis grins easily, although Arthur can tell (with amusement) that . "I am just here on vacation. Italy is really a beautiful country, no? Besides, with the way you're investigation of my company is going, I constantly have paperwork to attend to. I think I at least deserve this break."

"Sorry, dude!" Alfred barks a loud laugh and pats the man on the shoulder again. "Gotta do what I gotta do. Anyways, if you're corp is clean, you've got nothing to worry about!"

Francis suppresses a twitching brow and bends down to pick up his dropped phone. He pauses after he does this and peers into the open room of the suite. Ending the call on his phone — he ignores the shouts of 'What the hell?! You better not have hung up on me—' and sliding the device into his pocket, he gestures to the area and asks, "If you are here, Alfred, does that mean dear Matthieu is as well?"

"Oh, yeah… " Alfred blinks before he answers with shrug. "I asked him to go pick up some case files for the Carriedo Fernandez disappearance case. Man, are the police here slow!"

 _Oh_ , Francis realizes with narrowed eyes. He glances at Arthur who wears a dark and smug expression. _So that's why he's brought him… What a manipulative man… I need to find Tonio quickly..._

…

Lovino is drawn out of his muddled thoughts by a familiar sound. Sizzling pans and bubbling pots.

His eyes widen slightly.

 _There is no way that he…_

Slowly, the Italian rises to his his feet and turns towards the door. Hesitantly turns the knob. Pushes the door open.

There is a creak.

The scent of omelettes and potatoes wafts into the room. Following the familiar aroma, Lovino stumbles into the kitchen

"Why the fuck are you still being so nice to me…?" Lovino mumbles. "I told you that I hated you, didn't I?"

"Hm?" Antonio turns his head curiously. He registers Lovino's expression and then laughs. "Ay, Lovi, how I feel about you will not change regardless of how you feel about me. And, well… I sort of figured you'd react that way, but I couldn't stop myself." He laughs.

Lovino scowls brightly, flushes furiously, but says nothing. His silence earns an inquiring look and then a shrugging grin from the Spaniard.

The man hums, draws out silverware from the cupboards, smiles his usual smile. "I'll always treat you the same no matter what." Antonio pauses, wipes his hands against his apron, and then adds almost as if it is an afterthought, "Besides, words mean little compared to actions."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Lovino grumbles, despite knowing exactly what the man means. He feels exposed again but finds that he cares a little less about the fact than before. Maybe it's because of the — ugh — _guilt_ he feels at the pit of his stomach.

"Who knows." Antonio chuckles, bringing to the table two platters of potato omelettes. It looks like there are tomatoes in the omelettes this time.

The man seats himself across the Italian and begins to shove chunks of egg and potato and tomato into his mouth ungracefully. He pauses, fork halfway raised to his mouth, when he spots a pensively Lovino gazing at him.

"Is there something wrong, Lovi?"

"N-Nothing!" Lovino snaps, stabbing a fork furiously into the omelette, before he mumbles in a barely audible whisper: "I was just going to say that… I didn't…. Urgh… m-mean what I said…" He stabs a tomato furiously, murderously. "You fucking caught me off guard and shit and I don't do fucking feelings, so fuck you…. I don't hate you."

Antonio blinks at Lovino in surprise. And then he chuckles. " I know that Lovi."

Lovino recoils. Grimaces instead of scowls. Shoves a chunk of omelette into his mouth."If you knew then why did the fuck did you act like you caught me having sex with your girlfriend?"

 **What kind of sad analogy was that?**

"Que?" Antonio blinks. "I'm not sure if I understand that analogy…"

"Forget it." Lovino grumbles, before he points his fork threateningly at the man. "And just because I said that I didn't hate you doesn't mean that I like you, got it, bastardo?"

"Sure, sure!" Antonio sings amused.

"Oh. One more thing… You know too many of my secrets already…" Lovino continues in a suddenly and comically serious tone.

"Que? You mean about why you don't like your family, your drawings, or y—"

"Shut up, dammit!" The Italian snaps. He sweeps the room with his glare. It is almost as if he expects someone unknown perpetrator to pop up then and there. When none appear, he returns his attention to the Spaniard. "If you spill a single fucking word, I'll have to kill you."

Antonio laughs.

"I-I'm serious, dammit!"

"Well," Antonio grins, leaning forward and folding his hands beneath his chin, "you already know some of my secrets so I think it's pretty fair!"

"Oh yeah?" Lovino raises a brow. "And what's that? You're gay? No surprise there."

The man simply laughs again.

* * *

Day 22

Things return to normal — although Lovino isn't really sure if his circumstances even meet the definition. He isn't really sure whether or not the words "te amo" ever actually left Antonio's mouth either. Everything is casual and light and—

—normal.

Lovino isn't really sure what that means.

He finishes packing his clothes. Well, Antonio finishes the task for him after he complains and grumbles about the man doing nothing but staring, laugh, and offering commentary. The man then finally moves to pack his own clothes even there isn't much to pack.

When he moves to put his guitar beside Lovino's suitcase, the latter snaps in indignation, "Why the fuck are you bringing that for?"

"So I can play, of course!" Antonio answers promptly without skipping a beat.

"Play my ass." The Italian grumbles. "Bringing that shit is just going to slow us down."

"Slow us down?" Antonio repeats. "Aren't we taking a taxi? Or your car?"

"We're not taking a fucking taxi." Lovino grumbles. He doesn't mention the fact that he lost his last car during a hit he carried out before Antonio and that he hasn't had the chance to replace it. Something in his chest flickers at the thought of it — embarassment? No… _shame_?

"Ay, well, I can manage." Antonio grins. "I'm quite strong and I can walk really fast!"

Lovino doesn't doubt that, so he just grumbles angrily and lets the man win the round. He realizes that he has been doing that a lot recently — letting the man win "rounds" that is. He also realizes that somewhere deep inside he is glad that the man has decided to keep the guitar. When he realizes these realizations, he sends the man a biting glare.

Yes, things return to "normal".

Lovino isn't really sure what that means.

He isn't really sure why he feels indignant about this normalness either.

* * *

Day 23

Antonio and Lovino set out on the day of a big storm.

The skies are lined with gray cornrows, and painful light seeps in between their cracks. To Antonio, it looks as if someone has raked their fingers straight through the sky. Perhaps — or so the man figures — that is why the streets are completely devoid of life.

The two men snake through the backwater alleys of town side-by-side. Even though Antonio is the one dressed in awkward clothing — he dressed himself in a hoodie and a pair of thick sunglasses at Lovino's request — he does not feel uncomfortable at all. Rather, unlike Lovino, he is oblivious to the current direness of his situation.

"It's still pretty warm out…" Antonio hums to himself glancing up to the sky with a grin. "Even without the sun, it's still a nice day."

"Oh, yeah," Lovino grumbles, scanning the cross-section for the tenth time, "It's so nice that I'm finally able to bask in nonexistent sunlight." The pistol that is concealed at his hip feels hot and heavy.

"That's one way to see it." Antonio laughs, before he turns to the Italian curiously. "Say, Lovi, why are we sneaking around for instead of using the main streets? Won't it take longer to get to wherever we're going?"

"I told you already, didn't I?" Lovino snaps in turn. "It's part of the game."

"Oh…" Antonio blinks and the nods. "That's right!"

The idea of playing such a game causes a spark of excitement — no, _competitiveness_ — to awaken in his chest; and he quickens his pace just as Lovino grounds to a halt.

A T-shaped intersection. A t-shaped intersection dotted with people here and there. Just beyond the intersection, there is a bridge. Just beneath that is a river. A man-made river. A gondola.

"Oh, Lovi, loo—-mmmf!"

Before Antonio can say anything else, he is pulled back into the darkness of the alleyway. Lovino glares out of the darkness. His amber eyes are locked onto a man who stands by a lamppost around the street corner.

"It's _that_ asshole." He grumbles. The one who suggested playing a 'game' with Antonio's life. Even though Lovino has never seen the man's face before, he just knows that it's him.

Antonio squints in the direction Lovino is glaring and then raises a brow."That's not a very nice thing to say about someone that you've never met before. He looks decent… hmmm… ish."

"You'd think he was an asshole too, if you met him." Lovino snorts.

"So you know him?"

"Yeah. You could say that." Lovino responds. "Anyways, we need to stay away from that bastard." When Antonio gives him a curious look, he adds with an irritated whisper, "It's part of the fucking game, alright?!"

 **Obviously a lie. Seeing how we need to avoid him and seeing how I don't recognize him, I'm going to assume that that man is some hired hand. A hitman? Is he after the brat…? Or me?**

 **But why in the world would the brat want to help me avoid a hitman when he's a hitman himself?**

 **He really does make no sense…**

 **Not that the fact concerns me.**

The nonsensical statement seems to make sense to the Spaniard.

"Oh! So he is part of a family that your family is rivaling?" Antonio exclaims, eyes brightening. He pauses. "But I thought the game was a disguise game…?"

"Same difference, idiot." Lovino hisses, tightening his grip on the Spaniard and trying his best to ignore the tingles that shoot through his fingertips at the touch. He jerks his head in the opposite direction. "This way, bastard."

They wind back through the alleyways and find another intersection. Once again Lovino grinds to a halt, and Antonio is abruptly pulled backwards.

"You've got to be shitting me." The Italian grimaces brusquely.

"Is that guy playing the game too?" Antonio asks, eyeing the dark-clothed woman the man is scowling at.

"What?" Lovino snaps, looking the man up and down in confusion before scowling brightly once more. "Yes, you fucking dumbass."

"Hm? They're everywhere, huh?" Antonio pushes his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. His eyes brighten. "Ah, I know! We could take the gondolas, Lovi! No one would see us, and we could get off whenever we get close to wherever we're going!"

Lovino pauses in surprise and then scrutinizes Antonio carefully. He grumbles and then scowls. "Part of me wants to say 'for once you said something not fucking stupid' and the other part of me wants to punch you in the face because I know you just want to ride the fucking gondolas."

"Two birds with one stone, Lovi!" Antonio laughs. "You can't say no to that!"

"You better not try to make a move on me, bastardo." Lovino grumbles in defeat.

They end up "borrowing" an unmanned boat hooked by a loose rope to a haphazardly built dock. As they board the thing, it begins to drizzle.

At the sight of the first drops of rain, Antonio unzips and removes his jacket and pulls the hood of it over the Italian's head. The latter flinches in surprise at the gesture, before he recoils and scowls:

"W-What the fuck do you think you're doing?! Didn't I tell you not to make a move on me, dammit?!"

"Hm?" Antonio tilts his head as he removes his sunglasses and tucks them into the fold of his shirt — the drizzle has made it hard for him to see wearing them. He then points up to the sky, to the rain, to the clouds; and after a pause, he beams. "Well, it's raining, Lovi."

Lovino doesn't know how to respond. There are too many ways to.

One — 'Ha. It's about time you did something nice for me in return for all the shit I've done for you, you bastard.'

Two — 'I don't need _your_ fucking coat, idiota! And put your sunglasses back on! You're going to make me lose the fucking game… and get yourself killed while you're at it!'

Three — 'Thanks for the thought, but you need the shit more than I do.'

Four — 'Whatever.'

Five — 'Fuck you.'

Six — 'I... I like you— I-I mean…. I said 'fuck you'!'

Antonio kicks the boat away from the dock while Lovino indecisively sorts through his options with a deeply reddening face. The Spaniard bends down slowly in the boat and picks up a stray oar straddled across one of the thing's seats. Humming, he dips the thing into the rippling water and begins to row. The boat rocks back and forth with the effort.

Lovino immediately sinks to his knees and grips the edges of the boat with a panicked yet intensely scowling expression. "Y-You idiot! You're going to fucking get us killed!"

"Haha, Lovi!" Antonio chuckles, steadying himself and the oar. "The worst thing that could happen is that the boat flips and we fall into the water. Sonrisa!"

"Son—what?!" Lovino snaps, before he shakes his head and scowls once more. "No, the worst thing that could happen is that I fucking kick you off of this boat! Do you even know how to even drive this shit?"

"Well," Antonio responds with a light-hearted shrug, "I saw—"

"D-Don't you dare fucking say that you saw it on a telenovela!"

"Wow, Lovi!" The Spaniard exclaims, wide-eyed. "You never told me you were psychic!"

"And you never told me you were fucking —ugh. Forget it, dammit." The Italian snaps and then sighs, before he wobbles to a stand and rips the oar out of the man's hands. "Give me that! I'll show you how it's done."

Antonio watches as Lovino dips the oar into the water and begins to deliberately, slowly, carefully, gracefully row the boat forward. He studies the sharp concentration on the man's face and how the man's arms strain and tense with each pull and tug of the oar.

 _Lovi is cute and beautiful_ , Antonio realizes, _but he is really…_ _ **strong**_ _too._ His eyes soften. _He really is —_

"You've gotta make sure you sweep on the starboard side 'cause the thing always wants to ram right." Lovino snaps. He allows himself to peek at Antonio and finds that the man is literally sparkling with almost uncontainable excitement. "S-Stop making that weird ass face!" He pauses, checks the area over once, twice, and then thrice, before he jerks his head towards the oar. "W-Well, if you wanna try it the right fucking way…" He holds the oar out to the man. "... hurry up, bastard. But if you fuck up, I'll kick you off of of this boat."

"Si, gracias!" Antonio sings as he takes oar out of Lovino's hands. He mimics the man's previous pose and dips the oar into the water and begins to row.

The boat veers dangerously right.

Lovino comes dangerously close to shoving Antonio off of the boat — or, at least, he tries to convince himself that that is what he wants to do. He also tries to convince himself that he does not find the man's perturbed expression endearing, that he does not want to help the man figure out how to row the oar properly. He then tries to convince himself that the only reason he wants to help the man figure the damned the thing out is because watching the man struggle is irritating — because he doesn't want to end up having to row the damned thing himself. Yes, that's it!

Grumbling and mumbling and fumbling, the Italian stomps his way over to where the Spaniard stands and grabs hold of the oar. Antonio, still gripping the oar tightly himself, blinks down at him curiously. Lovino tries his best to ignore the man's face and forces the man's hands to move up the wooden shaft. There is a tingling spark at the touch, but Lovino finally realizes much to his surprise that he does not hate it at all.

"You've got to hold it up here, dumbass… And… "

He pauses for a moment and, while gripping the Spaniard's hands tightly underneath his own, begins to guide the man's movement through the rowing.

"You move it like this."

Antonio is not paying attention to the demonstration, however. His eyes are glued onto the varying expressions of the Italian rather than the rowing movements. Anger, frustration, determination, pride, hidden desire to help. Antonio has never realized that so many emotions could be woven into a person's face all at once. Even Esperanza has never shown such a plethora of emotions.

 _Ay, he's so cute when he's trying to act tough and nice and everything at the same time,_ Antonio thinks as he observes the Italian mumbles and grumbles. _I sort of just want to…_

Meanwhile, Lovino is trying his best to ignore the voice in his head that is screaming and asking him, ' _Why the hell are you fucking flirting with this bastard for_?!' He tries to convince himself, _this isn't fucking flirting. This is teaching a dumbass to not be a dumbass._

Continuing to grumble to both himself and Antonio under his breath, Lovino rips his eyes away from the water and angrily up towards the Spaniard's face. "Did I manage to get the damned idea through your thick sku…" He trails off, and his eyes widen.

How the space between them has closed so quickly, Lovino does not know. What he does know, however, is that man's face is _closely_ inclined towards him. He is so close that Lovino can almost make out the varying shades of green in the man's eyes. So close that he can feel the warmth of the man's breath on his cheek (the scent is of fresh tomatoes, not of sickly sweet wine). So close that even the slightest twitch of the face will result in contact.

The rain suddenly thickens so suddenly and so quickly that in a second the two men are soaked to the bone. Neither of them notice, however. They are too focused on each other, their gazes are too entangled, and the electrifying current connecting them is too intense—

— they do not even notice the man who stands watching them from the high bridge they are slowly drifting towards.

 **But I do.**

" **Dios mio! He is right above the bridge! Mierda… Look!"**

Antonio hears the screaming warning at the back of his head. Following its orders with much reluctance, he raises his eyes to the arching bridge just as the boat begins to pass beneath it.

A man — the same man that Lovino has been trying to avoid all day — stands at the edge of it. Their eyes meet — black against green.

When the eye contact is made, the man with the darker eyes starts in surprise. In a whiplash of motion, he jerks out something from his coat pocket. It is silver; and despite the dark of the sky, it glints dangerously. The tip of it dips downwards — pointing, aiming—

"Lovi, watch out!"

Lovino hears it before he sees it.

A loud resounding bang that sends his head spinning and his ears ringing.

His heart leaps in his chest and a memory flashes in his mind. Before he can even react, scream, or shout, however, two warm and strong arms envelop him. His feet leave the ground of the boat and for a moment he is floating. In the next, he is falling into a shocking abyss of cold (it's like a cold slap to the face — such a contrast from the heat he'd been feeling moments before). In the next, he is sinking, sinking, sinking.

 **I watch as my body and the brat disappear into the waters. They are shrinking in the darkness of the waves.**

" **Well, at least my body has avoided harm. That reckless hitman though…"**

 **I try to squint past the downpour of rain to see if the hitman is still nearby. Before I can make even a shadow out however, I feel that tugging sensation again** — **the one that I felt two weeks ago. A tug to my body.**

 **But it feels different this time**

 **Something is wr** —

Starting and shaking himself into reality, Lovino fights against the invisible watery hands that tug him towards the murky bottom of darkness. Pushing upwards, he breaks through the surface. Gasping and gagging and patting. Searching. Searching fearfully for the assailant. But he sees no one. The bridge is devoid of life. The area is devoid of life.

He freezes mid thought and sweeps the open water once more. His eyes widen as the realization hits him. It is followed by three things. A thought—

 _Y-You've got to be shitting me!_

And then panic.

"Toni!"

He sweeps the area over again. No Antonio in sight.

" _Lovi, look out!"_

 _That idiot!_

Utter recklessness driven by pure emotion comes third.

He doesn't even stop to think about his situation nor does he even acknowledge the bubbling fear of being ripped away and smothered by the rippling waves.

Taking a deep breath, Lovino dives back in the watery blackness. The cold is shocking and the dark terrifying but he pushes forward relentlessly. Several sweeps in he finds a bodily mass stuck in between the underwater currents. Blindly, he reaches for it and grabs hold of what he assumes is an arm. He gives a blind tug and, as the body floats up, he wraps his arms around what he assumes is the man's waist. It's limp in his hold, but he does not notice this. He is too busy focused on paddling up, up, up—

— he breaks the surface with Antonio in tow.

Gasping, huffing, and groaning, he paddles to the edge of a dip in the cobblestone street and heaves the man onto the land. He fights against the heavyweight of his water-soaked clothes and pulls himself up next. When he finally manages to claw and crawl and drudge up his entire body onto the street, he allows himself to lay there on his stomach for several seconds.

"Fuck… me…" He pants as he rolls onto his back. He grimaces at the unpleasant feeling of cloth against skin — the heaviness of it all — before he scowls in Antonio's direction. "Why the fuck would you jump into the canal if you don't know how to swim? Are you fucking stupid?"

The rain resounds loudly against the cobblestone.

There is no laugh. No "Aw, Lovi, were you worried?" No pouting. No apologies. There is not even a shaky breath.

There is only rain.

Lovino's eyes widen as he registers the stillness of Antonio's chest — no, the stillness of the man's entire body. His glowing olive skin has become a deathly shade of white. He looks almost like he did on that night before the first day. Like a ghost.

The Italian scrambles, stumbles, trips his way to the man's side. Hesitantly reaches out towards him. Shakes him once, twice. Cold. There is no tingling sensation at the touch — no weird spark, no annoying sense of floating.

"H-Hey… this isn't funny…"

Nothing.

With widening eyes, he quickly lowers his ear to the man's mouth. Recoils when he feels nothing — not even the slightest of breaths.

His heart skips a beat. No, it stops altogether.

Antonio Fernandez Carriedo is not breathing.

Toni is not breathing.

"Shit… _Shit_!"

His mind spins around and around and round. An endless circle of denial and disbelief. Lovino Vargas is unable to grasp the situation at hand. Only a minute ago, the man was laughing and attempting to steer the gondola in the right direction. And now the man is—

The Italian runs his fingers through his hair and shakes his head.

 _He's not breathing. He's not breathing? Oh god, he's not fucking_ _ **breathing**_ _!_

The world clicks into place.

Panic settles in. Horror. Fear. The three intangible things merge into one. A buzz. Static crackling. An error.

His stomach churns. His breath becomes hitched, his vision blurred.

Shaking and shivering, he lowers his hands towards the man's chest. Pauses. Recoils. Shakes the man again and again even though he knows he will not get a reaction.

"S-Shit," he stutters, "what the fuck do I do?! Shit, shit, shit, shit…!"

The Spaniard doesn't given him an answer. His face is impassive.

Lovino blinks at the impassive blank expression in utter disbelief. It has never occurred to him that the man could make such a terrifying expression. Just like his grandfather's expression on _that_ day.

Something in his chest snaps and crumples.

 _Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. No_ —-

And then it hits him. A three worded acronym.

CPR.

Cardiopulmonary Respiration. An action used to attempt to save another's life. Something that an assassin should not worry himself with ever doing or knowing how to do—

— but Lovino does know how to do such a thing.

Many years ago his grandfather taught him how to perform the resuscitation.

" _If you really want to help the family out," Gaius had said as he loaded a handful of bullets into a small pistol "you should probably learn how to help a member when stuff gets dirty, grimy, stressful, and tough. Save a family member's life in the thick of battle. That's the best way you can help out actually. Much more glorious than taking out an entire rival family branch, don't you think?"_

" _How is playing nurse any better than being a hero?" Lovino had scoffed cross-armed and pouting. "Pretty girls don't flock to nurses! They flock to guys like Rambo!"_

" _While that may be true," Gaius had laughed heartily, "the girls worth going for are the ones who know a nurse is the one to aim for."_

 _Lovino had merely grumbled in response, "I'm not sure about that…" After some more thought, however, he added, "So how do I help out anyways….?"_

 _Gaius had laughed. "Well, knowing CPR always helps, since you can't always rush someone to the hospital right away."_

" _CPR…?"_

At the sudden memory, Lovino finds his eyes suddenly widening.

And then, without skipping a beat, he fists his hands and clamps them over the center of Antonio's chest and pushes. He pushes hard over and over again thirty times. In all of this pushing and pressing not once does it occur to him the irony of his situation—

— he, Sicario Romano, is trying to save the life of Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, the man he tried to kill only weeks before —

— no, such thoughts do not occur to Lovino Vargas at all. The thoughts that do?

 _Don't fucking die. Please don't fucking die. Please,_ _ **please**_ _._

Lovino tilts the man's chin up, pinches the man's nose, presses his mouth against the man's own mouth, and breathes.

Nothing.

He furiously begins pumping his hands above the center of the man's chest once more. Again and again and again.

 _Come on, dammit!_

He breathes into the man's mouth again. Watches the man's chest rise for a fraction of a second.

And then,

once again,

nothing.

His heart hammers madly in his chest; and he furiously returns to pumping the man's heart. His arms begin to burn from the effort, but he is relentless.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Despite the coldness of the rain, his entire body burns and aches. Despite the coldness of the rain, his eyes begin to burn and sting and hurt.

 _You can't fucking die! Not like grandpa! I won't let you, you bastard! You idiot! You asshole!_

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

"W-what the fuck…" Lovino whimpers, before he presses his mouth against Antonio's again and breathes. "Come on! _Come on_!"

He pumps, and pumps, and pumps, and pumps his hands furiously, consistently over the man's heart. His fingertips are cold from the rain, but the man's body is still warm so he continues to pump and pump — foolishly hoping that he will be able feel a beat at the base of his palm.

Just as foolishly, he searches the man's impassive face and looks for the slightest indication that there is a change of expression. Of course, there is none.

And it is then that it hits Lovino: the feeling of floating emptiness.

The feeling is one that he has experienced only a single time before.

Lovi presses his hands against the man's chest again and squints past the sheet of rain and at the man's wet face. His arms begin to shake and his fingertips tremble as do his lips.

The sky is dark, rainy, and gray, but he can't help but to picture — of all things — the bright, warm yellow of the man's potato omelettes — the thing that the man has cooked every morning, every week for him without reprieve. Lovino finds that he has eaten the thing so many times that he cannot recall ever having eaten anything else before for breakfast.

Did he even eat breakfast before then? When Feliciano was still around — yes, probably. But before Feliciano moved in after he moved out? No.

Why? Why did he not breakfast all those times before?

Oh — because he always slept until noon. He always hated waking up to a new day, so he always tried his best to make the day as short as possible.

So why was he able to eat breakfast for the past three weeks? What changed?

He continuously woke up earlier and earlier as the days went on — that is what changed.

But why?

To keep an eye on Toni?

That was only for the first week…. What about the weeks after that? Why did he wake up earlier these past two weeks? Was it because… the days had somehow become more bearable? More... enjoyable? If so… why?

Because of the telenovelas that premiered at the early hours of the day? Because he was desperately hungry enough to eat Toni's 'way too fucking salty' omelets? Because he secretly enjoyed hearing Toni's 'good morning!'s?

Or was Toni himself the cause?

Something crumples even more inside of his chest. It almost crumples into oblivion.

Flashes of future days without the man flash by in his mind's eye. Just the emptiness of it all sends his mind reeling.

And he recalls suddenly a conversation he'd had with Antonio only a couple of days earlier. They'd been heatedly discussing,

" _Why the fuck did Esperanza fall in love with that new Olive douche so fucking fast? It's like the writers just want to stir up drama or something."_

" _Ay, it's passion!" Antonio laughed response._

" _No." Lovino scoffed. "He's either some rich bastard and she wants him to be her sugar daddy, or she's thirsty as fuck."_

" _Thirsty?" Antonio questioned with a confused expression. "She didn't look very thirsty. I mean, sure she was pretty sweaty, but I think that's for the dramatic effect—"_

 _Lovino stared at him incredulously; and when Antonio leaned in close to ask what was wrong, the latter was slapped, smacked, and kicked by the red-faced former._

 _After things settled down, the Spaniard turned to the Italian with one of his rare serious and contemplative expressions. "You know, I didn't really think about it until now but people can become important to each other really quickly, huh?"_

" _You shouldn't think." Lovino snapped automatically in response, before he eyed Antonio curiously. "What's that supposed to mean?"_

" _I mean, hmm… I think Esperanza fell in love with Olive even though she's only known him for a couple days because he became important to her really fast!" Antonio replied, before his expression returned to its regular sunny and dreamy shine. "Ah, that really is amazing, isn't it?"_

" _You mean unrealistic?" Lovino raised a brow._

" _It's not unrealistic, Lovi!" Antonio laughed brightly, turning to him and inclining his head. "I mean, I only remember knowing you for three weeks, and you've already become really important to me!" —_

 _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

Lovino continues to furiously pump and pump and pump. His eyes begin to burn just as furiously; and, despite the cold clarity of the rain, the tears that begin to pool over his eyes are hot and salty. They, just like his thoughts, intermingle and become entangled with the droplets from the sky.

 _He's going to die. He's going to fucking die and it's all my shitty fault!_

 _What the fuck are you doing? Just let him fucking die, and all of your problems will be over —!_

 _Stop thinking, dammit!_

But the Italian continues to think nonsensical thoughts. He continues to think of—

" _I feel like you have too little faith in how much people care about you,"_

 _the thrums of the man's guitar resonating inside of his chest,_

" _I will follow you wherever you go,"_

" _You are perfect,"_

 _the feeling of the man's hand held in his own,_

 _the man's warm unwavering gaze that always seemed so focused,_

 _and_

" _Te amo… I love you, Lovino Vargas. I know I do!"_

"Y-You bastardo!" Lovino shouts; his pumps become more furious and ferocious. "B-Bugiardo! Liar!"

But Lovino knows that he himself is the only liar — no, that's not right. He is not a liar. It is just that, until this point, he has not realized it yet. Rather, he has not had enough time to. He has not had enough time to realize that he remembers everything Antonio has ever said, nor enough time to realize that he remembers every moment they've ever spent together. He has not had enough time to realize either that, out of all the words he has called the man, he has never pulled the words from his heart—

— _oh god, look at what you've_ _ **done**_ _to me, you bastardo! Take fucking responsibility, dammit!_

He tilts the man's head up and breaths into his mouth again.

 _You can't just make me think about this shit and feel this way and leave, you bugiardo bastardo idiota assface!_

Blinking away the burning tears in his eyes, Lovino begins pumping the man's chest once more.

 _Please, Dio! Any fucking higher power! I know I'm the shittiest person in the world, and I know I haven't fucking gone to church in months, but please! Dio, please let him live. Please! I'm fucking begging here, you bastard!_

He breathes into Antonio again.

 _I'll fucking go to my shitty famiglia again. I'll apologize to that fucking Fiero even! I'll be nicer to Feli! I'll be nicer to Nico and Romeo! I'll go to church every single fucking day! I'll pick up another job! I'll pick up a fucking instrument! I'll even take care of bratty kids! I'll stop being a fucking hitman!_

He pumps again.

 _You've been fucking with me ever since I've been born! And you literally just served me the biggest 'fuck you' three weeks ago! Then you twist it, and for once I think you're maybe being less of a shitty person than usual — but you're screwing me over again right now, dammit!_

Breathes again.

 _Just give me this one fucking thing. This one… fucking… win._

Pumps again.

 _Please! I just need someone to cook me breakfast, to tell me that I'm perfect, to look at me like I'm not just some worthless no good piece of shit. No, not someone. I need fucking Antonio, dammit! I know I'm pathetic for getting attached to this guy, but come on. Give me a break._ _ **Please**_ _…! I'm begging here, and I never beg! I'll even tell Antonio the truth! I'll tell him that—_

"I'm a shitty hitman and he's a fucking capo!" Lovino shouts. "That I've tried my best to fucking hate him, to fucking not like him, but I… I fucking _can't_ , dammit." He closes his eyes and pumps mindlessly; and then he remembers the exercise Antonio taught him only several days before, and he takes a deep breath and shouts—

"Ti Voglio Bene!"

No, that doesn't match what he feels at all. 'I like you' doesn't fit. It's ridiculous, but… Somewhere along the line a simple "like" has become —

"Ti amo, you shitty stupid fucking bastardo! Ti amo!"

And he breathes again into the man's mouth.

Something is different this time.

There is a small and quiet cough followed by the slightest twitches of expression. Another cough follows the change.

With widened eyes, Lovino watches as a trickle of water dribbles out of the Spaniard's mouth. Quickly and almost instinctively, the Italian rolls the man over onto his side. Rubs circles into the man's back even though he knows that doing such a thing is ridiculous — ridiculous but comforting both to himself and the man. "Come on. You can do it. Just get that shit out… Come on."

The man splutters and coughs and groans. Grimaces as he haphazardly pulls himself into a sitting position. Looks pained and angry and confused as his sickly, poisonous green eyes peer out into his surroundings.

But Lovino does not notice the sickly greenness of the man's eyes nor the anger or confusion on the man's face. No, the only thing he notices is that the man is _breathing_ again.

…

 **It feels like someone has stabbed me in the chest over and over again. There** is a burning sting, like my lungs have been squeezed and whipped. That's ridiculous though. I'm wearing my bullet proof vest, right?

No, something is not right…

I feel the chill of the rain soaking through the thin linen of my shirt. The fabric clings to my skin thickly, uncomfortably. But it feels like I'm wearing a shirt of water rather than a shirt of cloth. The heavy tap, tap, tap of the rain everywhere washes away distinguishing this from that.

The gravel under my palms feels hard and cold and dirty. But I can't in the end distinguish the ground from the rain either.

Rain. Rain. Rain.

There is water everywhere. In the sky. Floating down in the air. Flooding the ground. Soaked in my hair, my skin, my shirt. In my lungs.

Someone rolls me over onto my side. I cough up what feels like buckets of water. It's warm unlike the water that is everywhere else. Burning, aching pain. Disgusting. I feel like puking. My head hurts. My chest hurts.

Grimacing and heaving and ignoring my heavy head, I hoist myself up to a sitting position, wipe away the veil of water that coats my eyes and mouth, and squint at my surroundings.

There is a small gondola to my left. The stream that runs through it is not still, clear, or reflective. It looks as if thousands upon thousands of needles are dotting its surface. Those needles seem to prick at the cobblestone pathway that I am spread on as well.

Everything is shiny. Wet. Misted over.

Everything but the gray sheets that coat the sky.

Even the man who sits sprawled out only centimeters away from me is soaked to the core.

I can barely make out his features. The man's dark hair is matted downwards over his eyes — I see a peek of amber… or is that green?. His white blouse and black pants cling like glue to his somewhat tanned skin which seems to be sleek and shiny from the rain. Of all those features, what I notice most striking about him is how heavily he is heaving, panting.

The man wipes away the curtain of hair from his eyes and scrambles forward towards me. His lips are trembling, and his amber eyes are wide and wet.

I know this man. I know him.

We are only a millimeter away now.

He is so close that I can see his warm breath fogging up the chilled air.

"Y-You…"

His voice sounds so small, so sad, so _happy_.

Suddenly, his hands come up around me and without warning his fingers clamp down on my cheeks. They seem frail yet strong. Cold yet warm.

"... _bastard_!"

And after gazing at me with his amber eyes for what seems like years, he pulls himself forward with closed eyes. I watch, unable to retaliate, as he comes closer and closer—

— and then, his lips brush against my own.

And like that, I'm gone.

…

When Toni attains some semblance of consciousness, he finds something soft and wet brushing up against his lips. It's a softness (like clouds, Antonio thinks) — a tickle, a spark. Even though his lips have never brushed against such a thing before, he immediately knows what it is. Lovino's lips.

Suddenly and abruptly, the brush morphs into a hard press. And Antonio's eyes widen in surprise and confusion as he feels Lovino's hands guide his head forward into the kiss.

Then, there is a pause in the kneeling Italian's motion. For a moment, Antonio can see the man's eyelids flutter open ever so slightly. Hesitation. But he does not allow Lovino to open his eyes. No. He does not allow hesitation either.

Closing his own eyes, Antonio tilts his head, leans forward into the kiss, presses up against the Italian's body (warmth seeps into both as the contact is made), reaches out and trails both of his hands along the Italian's soaking wet face, and entangles his fingers into the Italian's matted hair. Presses deeper, somewhat harder, to match the Italian's own fierceness. He does so until they are balanced. Until their lips slide and slip against each other and lock into place in-between each other like puzzle pieces.

Wet, warm lips against wet, warm lips. Soft pulling. Quiet , cold fingers entangled in cold dripping hair. The frosty pitter-patter of the rain on the concrete and their heads.

The oh so cold frigidness and the oh so hot burning heat are dizzying in contrast and comparison. Soon the two sensations are almost indistinguishable. They melt away— or do they freeze over? — all thought and sense.

One of Antonio's hands slides down to cup Lovino's face. The man's callused fingertips send electrifying chills down the Italian's spine. In response, the Italian allows one of his hands to drift downwards, to press against the man's soaking chest, and to grab a fistful of the man's shirt. While Lovino feels cold, Antonio feels what he can only describe as "fuzzy warmth" spread through his chest.

Their heated breaths intermingle and fog up the cold gray air. The thickness of the rain makes them linger.

Antonio's first kiss — or the first one that he can remember — tastes like the purple grapes he enjoys popping in his mouth on lazy afternoons and red wine. Lovino's first _true_ kiss — he doesn't even remotely think of the possibility that he is eating off Antonio's face or vice versa — tastes like ripe tomatoes fresh from the garden and his favorite kind of fuji apples.

They pull away slowly, gently, dreamily. Panting in a daze.

Lovino struggles to open his eyes against the curtain of dew that has formed over them. He prepares to move to wipe the film away, but Antonio beats him to it. With callused yet gentle fingertips, the man wipes away the rain (and the remnants of the salty warm tears) from the Italian's eyes.

The coldness of the rain subdues any heated embarrassment that Lovino may have possibly felt; and it leaves only a strange sensation of light dreaminess.

Lovino opens his eyes just as Antonio presses his forehead up against him. His forehead warms at the touch; and his eyes widen ever so slightly in surprise. He isn't sure whether it's because of the strange warmth that radiates out from the cold at the core of his body or because he is taken aback by the pure intensity of Antonio's gaze.

It is such a vivid, warm, and green gaze. And now that Lovino is this close to such a gaze he can make out the varying shades of verdigris and the slightest specks of gold.

Antonio also has the opportunity to more closely observe the varying colors that swirl around in Lovino's irises. The soft amber of the man's eyes — he notices — are speckled with almost imperceptible flecks of gray.

"Lovi…" Antonio whispers, still panting from the kiss and the lack of air. He swallows a hacking cough.

"Don't you dare fucking say that that was like telenovela, you bastardo." Lovino grumbles tiredly, dizzily, grabbing another fistful of the man's shirt as if for support.

There is a pause.

"It was _better_ than a telenovela." Antonio finally breathes in response with the slightest of laughs which sets off another string of hacking coughs. They soon subside, however.

Lovino allows a half grumble, half scoff to escape from him his lips and mumbles a quiet, "You're an idiot." He ignores the blaring alarms that scream at him to think about his _damn situation_ at the very back of his mind. Instead, he frowns in concern — yes, it's concern not anything else — at the man's heavy breaths. "Don't ever fucking do that again." Lovino huffs, pants, leans more heavily against the Spaniard's forehead. Exhaustion rings throughout his core.

"Do what?" Antonio's bright smile falls. "The… kissing…?"

"No, you idiota…!" The Italian sighs almost angrily, tightening his grip on the man's shirt . "Don't fucking jump into a river if you don't fucking know how to swim! Are you stupid? You almost drowned and died, dammit!"

"Aw, Lovi." Antonio laughs lightly (the sound of it is lost in the pattering rain). "Were you worried about me?" He winces suddenly, and his expression becomes somewhat dazed.

"Of course I was fucking worried!" Lovino whispers, snaps, surprising the Spanish man. "You almost died… I…. Who the hell would clean up the apartment then?"

Antonio stares at him for a moment with the same dazedness, and then he allows his fingertips that still rest on the Italian's face to trail down to his chin. Smiling softly, he guides Lovino's face upwards.

Their eyes meet once more.

"Ay, I told you before, si? I will follow you wherever you go… tesoro." He inclines his head. "So no dying for me."

Lovino raises a brow at the term, but he is too entangled in Antonio's gaze to even say a thing. Antonio is entangled in Lovino's gaze as well — so entangled that he has still not noticed the man who stands behind Lovino. The man who has been standing there since the kiss began.

It is only when the man visibly shivers that Antonio finally notices him. With much effort, he tears his gaze away from Lovino's eyes and blinks blearily up at the figure. The Italian follows his gaze and registers the figure with widened eyes.

 _Shit!_ Lovino scrambles backwards. _The hitman! How could I be so_ _ **stupid**_ _?!_

He glances backwards at Antonio's perturbed and dazed expression, bites his lip, scrambles for the pistol that is hooked to his belt, and pushes the Spaniard back behind him. His entire body shakes from both the cold and the fear that bubbles out from his chest. The only warmth he can feel is from Antonio's body pressed up behind him. The man leans up against him suddenly almost as if for support.

"Lovino." The shadowy figure says in a calm voice as he leans forward with slightly raised arms. "It's me — Kiku."

The Italian's eyes widen as he registers the Japanese man's calm face, but he does not lower his drawn weapon. Instead, he eyes the small dagger the man has drawn.

"Kiku… ?!" Lovino repeats in disbelief. "But…"

"I apologize, but I have been following you two for a while now. I knocked the man who was pursuing you unconscious." Kiku explained as he knelt down and placed his weapon onto the floor.

"You…" Lovino blinks incredulously. "But…"

"Mister Antonio does not look well." Kiku continues. "I believe he should be looked over for any extraneous injuries."

"Kiku, you…"

"I think I understand the situation, Lovino." Kiku answers the unasked situation calmly. "... and your relationshi…" The man pauses, dark eyes widening as a blush tints his face. "Ah, I apologize. I-I did not mean too, but I saw your… exchange with Mr. Antonio."

Lovino's eyes widen in turn. And all of the embarrassment and angry emotions— no, the emotional walls — that were subdued by the rain come flooding out.

"That…." Lovino shakes his head as his cheeks become flushed a deep red in the cold. "I…! It's just... It's not…! "

"Perhaps…" Kiku suggests, bowing his head slightly. "We should get out of this rain, before we discuss any matters further."

* * *

bacio [Italian]

kiss (noun) / something that does not involve eating someone's face off, but something that tastes sweet; an agreement; the beginning of a foolish dream

* * *

 **A/N:** I am dead. 19k words man. Only if I had the motivation to make my lab reports and research papers that long. Sorry,sorry, sorry for the late update. Life has been leading me into a dark alleyway and gutting me in the stomach. I probably won't update until the end of the month tbh OTL. Spring break is coming up so all the professors are like 'ITS TIME TO TORTURE' which breaks my kokoro. On a brighter note, I get to register for my classes for Fall in two weeks so huzzah!

Anyways, yey, they're a thing now. I will allow them to dance in awkward beginning relationship fluff and happiness for a couple of chapters BEFORE I COMPLETELY TEAR THEM TO SHREDS JUST LIKE COLLEGE IS TEARING ME TO SHREDS. Uhm. Anyways.

Also, also... about the cute emojis that I put in the previous AN... I honestly just copied and pasted them from a website that hosted them. They were just so cute... I couldn't help it! OTL. Also, also, also, I am slowly being dragged into SpUK hell so there might be the tinniest hints of it in the story OTL

Thanks to all those who read, followed, favorited, and reviewed!

Shout out to rukisea, Ariaprincess, Errui, Shiroyamimaru, and Skitp for your lovely reviews!

(I'm never sure if I should reply to the reviews here or not because I know that some people get annoyed by them OTL)

Anyways, see you all in two weeks... hopefully!


	8. Honradez

**My (False) Love**

008: Honradez

honesty (n.) / the quality of being of fair and truthful

* * *

Day 24

[He drifts past the red satin drapes that billow before the open glass doors and makes his way towards the open balcony. The woodwork of the thing is a pure white — almost as white as the clouds that sparsely dot the rosy sky.

At the very edge of the balcony stands Lovino Vargas. The Italian man leans against the pearly railings at the edge of the thing with his head inclined towards the setting sun.

"Lovi!" Toni sings as he falls into place beside the Italian. "How is my favorite Senor Rizo doing?"

"Fine until you got here." Lovino answers with a scowl, before he adds. "But since you're already here, you might as well stay, dammit."

"Alright, Lovino's favorite man will stay as requested." The Spaniard grins, inclining his head towards the Italian almost baitingly.

Rose petals suddenly rain down from the sky; and they twirl and dance and float in the air like fragments of a dream.

Brushing a rose petal out of his hair, Lovino takes the bait and hops a small hop to reach Antonio's lips. A small kiss is placed. The Italian then pulls away with redenned cheeks as if he has caught himself doing something embarrassing.

"Aw, Lovi, don't be shy." Toni laughs. "Is that all I get?"

"That was more than enough." Lovino grumbles in response, before he pauses and tilts his cheek out towards the Spaniard with a grudging look. He taps his cheek impatiently. "Equivalent exchange, bastard."

Toni laughs and bows his head and places kiss after kiss after kiss onto the Italian's cheek. After the fifteenth kiss, the Italian scowls and complains about the kisses being too slobbery and wet but he does not move away from them. On the seventeenth kiss, however, Toni finds himself being roughly pulled to the side by a stranger — no, not by a stranger but by—

"Q-Que? Y-Your Francis, right?" Toni asks the man who now stands in front of him in confusion. "What are you doing here?"

"That's not the question you should be asking, you idiot!" Lovino snaps from behind him as he covers his eyes and points down low. "Why the fuck is he naked?!"

Antonio blinks down and finds that the Frenchman is devoid of all articles of clothing save for a rose that seems to hover above his private regions. He smiles in confusion."Huh? Is it Halloween?"

"What the hell, Toni! That's not the right fucking question either!"

"Oh, mon ami! How could you not know?" Francis cries as he pulls petals off of his rose and tosses them into the air. "It is the day of love!"

"Love?" Antonio questions, scratching his cheek. His eyes brighten with realization. "Amor? You mean like passion? Like La Casa y Aqua?"

"Yes!" Francis exclaims, taking Antonio's hands into his own. "Congratulations, Toni, you have kissed your one true love at last!"

Lovino shouts angrily, irritably, irately in the background.

"Oh!" Toni exclaims, eyes widening as he recalls the events of… wait, when did he kiss Lovino again? _It was recently wasn't it? Did I… Actually even kiss him…? Wait. This situation is kind of really weird now that I think about it. I don't remember ever coming to this place… Ah, oh well. I'm sure it's fine!_ "You're right!" He finally exclaims; and his cheeks begin to flush at the memory. The rosey memory that is strangely beginning to become blurred—

Suddenly and abruptly out of nowhere a white-haired man drops out from the sky and sends rose petals fluttering into the air. Lovino greets this man with a loud "what the fuck?!". The man answers the greeting with a loud cackle and a booming introduction.

"Now it is time to consummate your relationship!" Francis cries above the white-haired man's shouts.

"Con… sum… mate…?" Antonio tilts his head further with every syllable.

"Oui!" Francis nods fiercely. "Consummate!"

The sky darkens abruptly.

Francis recoils at the sudden change, while the white-haired man challenges the sky to a battle. Needless to say, Antonio is very confused and Lovino is very angry.

"Wait… what's going on…?"

"The King of Putas is on his way to destroy amor!" Francis cries dramatically as he falls to his knees. He pauses, grabs a fistful of petals, and cries into them.

"That's not good!" Antonio frowns seriously. "What do I need to do?"

"You must gather all of the tomatoes in the universe and harness their power," Francis answers tearily, "to defeat the King."

"That makes sense." Antonio nods seriously.

"How the fuck does that make sense?!" Lovino shouts. He's near hyperventilation.

Toni turns towards him with a bright expression and clamps his hands onto the man's shoulders. "Lovi," he says, "I need your encouragement in order to defeat the King."

"M-My encouragement?" Lovino stutters, taken aback.

"Si!" Antonio nods once more. "Another kiss! Just like the one you gave me before!"

The Italian blushes furiously, before he nods deeply. Raising his hands upwards to cup the Spaniard's face, he steps on his tippytoes and presses his lips against the man's own lips. Antonio, in turn, bows his head down to accept the gesture.

In the background he can hear Esperanza and Tulio — and Dios mio is that Bella? — cheering for him. And such passionate cheers they are! He can feel his heart begin to thrum and vibrate to the sound — it is almost similar to the feeling he gets in his chest whenever he is around Lovino.

Oh wait! Lovino _is_ around —

—right next to him!

Antonio shakes the buzz of excitement out of his system and blinks down at Lovino with a smile, but such a smile morphs into a frown of confusion as he registers the fact that the Italian is no longer in his arms. His frown turns into quivering smile and a nervous laugh as he then registers that Francis, Tulio, and the others are no longer by his side either.

"Huh? Where did everyone go…?"

The sky darkens even more until everything is pitch black. Darker than black. Swirling nothingness—

—but Antonio is more confused than afraid of the sudden change. So, in the end, when the blackness melts away into an office-esque scenery, he greets the change with a slight tilt of his head.

Yes, office-esque indeed.

Polished wooden walls rise up in all four directions. Sleek brown floorboards topped with extravagant carpets stretch across beneath them. A crystal chandelier hangs above such extravagance and provides the room with blinding light. The large windows that line the back wall, however, sliver in even more brightness. It almost seems as if both sources of light are competing to act as the spotlight of the scenery; and the actors basking in such a spotlight?

Two men.

One sits poised behind a large oaken desk that is topped with a stack of files and a vase of wilted roses. Crisp business suit. Blonde hair the color of molten gold. Green eyes that are several shades brighter than emerald. Folded hands laced together tightly.

 _King Puta,_ Toni identifies the man with a serious nod. Suppressing the strange urge to punch the sitting man in the face, the Spaniard attempts to better study the man. _Hm…? He's sort of… handsome._ He pauses and quickly gets distracted by another thought — _Ah, but Lovi is much cuter!_

After a moment of getting lost within a daydream in a daydream, he focuses his attention on the second person in the room. The person who occupies one of the two leather couches that are placed opposite of the oaken desk. And Toni's eyes widen in surprise, curiosity.

 _Dios mio — it's… me?_

Taken in by such strangeness, Toni completely misses the intensity of the atmosphere.

"I'm glad that you agreed to this private meeting, Mister Fernandez Carriedo."

Elegant, clipped, poised. King Puta states such a thing in such a voice.

"Oh please, Kirkland." His doppelgänger says with a mirthless laugh—

— and Toni finds that the man's voice is deep, rumbling, almost threatening, _familiar_ —

" **You don't need to keep up that gentlemanly facade with me. It's kind of irritating actually**."

"Well then," the blonde man scoffs as he pulls back and thrums his fingers along the edge of his desk, is it that you want me to treat you with less respect? That's rather masochistic of you. But I suppose that there is Spanish honesty at its finest"

" **That's stretching it**." His doppelgänger raises a brow and then smiles thinly. "I'm asking you to speak honestly. Don't act like we're just acquaintances when just two weeks ago you and your men took over the ports of that group in Sicily even though you knew that I had just entered into a contract with them."

"I apologized for that and made reparations already." Arthur frowns somewhat before he smiles a bit as well; but his smile is almost taunting, amused. "And I'm not speaking to you as an acquaintance since that's a bit unbecoming for old childhood — dare I say it — friends. I am speaking to you as a potential ally."

Toni watches as his doppelganger stares at the final phrase. His doppelganger stares and then laughs a musical laugh that is somehow also chilling. " **So is that why you asked me to come today? To ask me to become your ally**?" He sighs, leans back in the seat, and then frowns. " **Are you an idiot**?"

"Quite the opposite." Arthur smirks back at him and leans forward. "After all, I've figured out that the both of us are after the same thing."

" **Really**?" The doppelganger asks, now sounding rather bored. " **And what's that**?"

"Gaius. Vargas. " — with each word, Arthur taps his index finger on his desk; and with each word, the doppelganger's expression darkens. But even with the darkening, the man's poisonous green eyes seem to glow dangerously.

 _Hm?_ Toni tilts his head. _Isn't Vargas Lovi's last name? Small world…_

"Oh, what a frightening expression, Antonio. That's not very business-like at all." Arthur muses.

Toni perks his head up at the familiar name; and he mutters to himself, "Dios mio… So that's why — I have a twin." He pauses, studying Antonio's haughty expression before he corrects himself. "An _evil_ twin..."

" **And you consider yourself a businessman**?" The dubbed evil twin scoffs, leaning forward. " **You know they call you Brittania's Pirate, don't you? Always taking what isn't yours**."

There is a slight twitch — no, a slight crack — in Arthur's reserved facade.

"And you think the title of Conquistador is flattering, do you?" The blonde responds almost snappishly. "It practically gives away what your end goal is."

" **Is that what they call me**?" Antonio hums, before he smiles. " **The 'Conqueror' is much more flattering than the 'Pirate'**." He pauses, seeming to recollect his thoughts while Arthur gazes at him with what appears to be irritation; and then he continues on in a voice that seems to be devoid of all amusement and spiritedness. " **It was unwise of you to reveal that you were aiming for that**."

 _That?_ Toni wonders. _What is 'that'…?_

"Oh, please." Arthur brushes him off. "Speak for yourself. Going around and so blatantly taking over the families and groups that used to be under the Oenetrus? I'm surprised Francis, Roderich, and the others haven't realized it yet."

" **If you've realized that much** ," Antonio smiles strangely again, " **I guess then you must realize that I'm aiming for your family too**."

"How honest and bold of you, although I suppose once again that is simply is Spanish honesty" Arthur remarks, mirroring the smile. "And you know I have the same goal, so I am eyeing everything under you as well. But…" Arthur pauses, inclining his head. "Who do you think will win this?"

" **I don't 'think** '." Antonio responds with an abrupt laugh. " **I know**."

Arthur's eyebrow twitches slightly. "Oh do you now? You know that you'll be able to successfully take down the Oenetrus Family too then? Without any major losses?"

" **Hm? Of course**."

Arthur's eyebrow twitches again. "You astound me sometimes." He sighs and comes to a stand. "Regardless…" Pausing, he walks around the desk and stops short in front of Antonio. The man, in turn, blinks up at him. "Regardless, I would like to offer you a proposal."

" **A proposa** l?" Antonio raises a brow. He does not move to stand. " **I hope it's not one for marriage**." The way such a phrase is said makes it difficult to discern whether it is a mock or an honest question.

The remark almost causes Arthur to lose his composure, but he does not—

"I'll offer you my assistance in managing the downfall of the Oenetrus." Arthur explains with a calm countenance. He smiles almost triumphantly at Antonio's confused expression, before he continues. "We'll split the reward even."

Antonio's gaze darkens yet also somehow burns brightly. He then speaks in a husky tone that seems to be both murderous and amused in nature: " **A pirate and a conqueror sharing? That's a very funny idea**."

"Temporary sharing." Arthur smirks, offering his hand. "After each of us have piled up all the final earnings and assuming the others don't realize until the very end — well, you've read history books, haven't you? A battle at sea."

Antonio stares and stares and stares; and then he laughs. He laughs a bright and musical laugh that leaves Arthur with a perturbed and somewhat displeased expression. Seeming not to notice such an expression, Antonio finally comes to a stand and accepts Arthur's hand.

" **As head of the Castiles, I accept your offer**." He states simply.

"And as the head of the Sussex Firm, I will do everything in my power to live up to my end of the bargain."

The handshake ends, but the two men continue to hold each other's gazes. Suddenly, however, Antonio nods towards Arthur's desk — no, towards the vase that rests on top of the desk.

" **Your flowers — they're wilting**. "

Arthur turns his head only slightly. "So they are. I'll have one of my men replace them."

"No need." Antonio laughs. "I'll have one of my men send a bouquet — think of it as a gift of our newly found friendship."

And just as abruptly as the strange circumstance Toni finds himself in unfolds, the strange circumstance ends.

Melts away again into complete darkness.]

…

Antonio is jerked into a half-awakening by a single sound. The clack of metal against wood. Dull and resounding. Loud yet soft. And then—

—slosh, slosh—

— water rippling.

Wincing at a pain that seems to occupy both his temple and his chest, Antonio blinks blearily and tries his best to make out his surroundings. After a minute or so of slow and confused blinking, he figures out two things: one, he is lying in a very, very comfortable bed; two, he is in a very nice room with walls that are painted the faintest of pinks.

"Ah, Lovino — he's awake."

But the room is one that the Spaniard does not recognize. The bed he lies on is one he does not recognize either. The dark-haired man who hovers over him is almost unfamiliar as well. Familiarity finally comes when a scowling, red face eclipses his own.

"Oi, you bastard! About fucking time!"

…

Lovino finds it strange how quickly feelings can pass and change. Anger has passed and gone as has panic and fear followed by desperation and then relief and then overwhelming happiness. Now, however, Lovino isn't sure what to feel. To think. He isn't sure what to think when Antonio suddenly grabs him by the arm and pulls him close either.

"Lovi." Antonio says so seriously, so firmly that for a moment the Italian thinks that he sees a hint of poisonous green in his eyes. "We need to gather tomatoes to defeat the puta King."

The imagined poisonous green is replaced by dizzying and sparkling and feverish pool of brightness.

Lovino blinks down at Antonio for a moment with a twitching brow, before he turns to the idle Japanese man who wears an unreadable expression. "What the fuck is wrong with him?"

"Ah," the man replies, looking now somewhat concerned, "I believe he is delirious from the fever." He places down the basin he holds in his hands and cautiously drifts towards the Spaniard.

The sudden motion causes Antonio to turn to the man more out of curiosity than surprise. The unformed expression of curiosity, however, morphs into a pained wince; and the Spaniard is left almost breathless as he releases his clasp on Lovino's hands and instead grips his aching chest.

"H-Hey," Lovino stutters, buckling his legs and leaning forward — he is unsure of where to put his hands, "are you okay? Don't fucking pass out on me again."

"I don't feel so good…"

"It would be best if you refrained from moving, Mr. Antonio." Kiku says calmly as he approaches the Spaniard and attempts to guide him down back on the bed without touching him. "Several of your ribcages may be cracked, so you should—"

Antonio pained expression morphs into one of confusion. "Huh? What do you mean? How did that happen?"

Lovino and Kiku share a look before the former's evidently worried expression becomes one of exasperation and… relief? Anger? All of those things mixed in one.

"You mean you don't fucking remember?!" Lovino snaps incredulously. He prepares to smack the back of the man's head but finds himself unable to as he registers the reappearance of the Spaniard's pained expression. He frowns, feels a twinge of something awful in his chest, and asks hesitantly, "What do you remember?"

"It's kind of a blur." Antonio chuckles airily through his wince. After a short struggle, he relaxes himself back onto the bed. "Hm. We were on the gondolas or something, right? And then one of your rival family members ambushed us — dios mio, they were very serious about the game, but I guess that's kind of admirable in a sense…." He trails off slurs his words, and tilts his head. "I guess the water gun was a nice touch..."

"W-water gun?" Kiku cannot help but to stutter the phrase.

 _Water gun? What the hell is he—_

The answer suddenly becomes clear.

 _You have got to be shitting me._

Unable to stop himself, Lovino leans forward and clamps his hands onto Antonio's cheeks and forces the man to look up at him.

"You're telling me you fucking jumped into a river when you don't know how to fucking swim just to avoid what you thought was a damned water gun?!"

Antonio's gaze is one of confusion and dazedness. And his clipped laugh matches it. "No, Lovi. That's not it. I just didn't you to get wet."

Lovino resists head butting the man; instead, as he feels Kiku's gaze pricking his skin, he pulls away with a scowl. "It was fucking raining, you dumbass!"

"Oh…" Antonio frowns perturbed, before he laughs with a confused expression again. "I guess I got caught up in the moment then…" He trails off before his expression becomes strange. "Did you carry all the luggages yourself okay? King Puta didn't steal them, did he?"

Lovino's eyebrow twitches. "Who the fuck is King Puta?"

"Francis warned me about him." Antonio says gravely . "He was throwing rose petals to try to subdue him, but the King was too strong… he had a meeting with my evil twin you know." He trails off, having apparently lost his train of thought.

 _What the fuck._

"Yeah, that King Puta shit definitely didn't happen." Lovino grimaces, before makes a 'what the fuck' face at Kiku. "You passed out on us when we were on our way to this place, you bastard, and we had to lug your ass here."

"Really?" Antonio murmurs with a perplexed expression. "Lo siento. I'm sorry."

Lovino opens his mouth. Prepares to ask about a sudden realization that has dawned on him — what about the kiss?

A strange mixture of indignation, anger, and relief(?) comes to him as he comes to two hypotheses. One, _Antonio is a bastard and an idiot and doesn't remember the fucking kiss_. Two, _Antonio is a bastard and an idiot and remembers the fucking kiss but is playing hard to get._

If the situation were different, Lovino would have been fuming. But the situation is not different; and the Italian finds that he is more concerned about Antonio's condition than his actions. _Ugh, how stupid_ , he thinks. _Look at what you've done to me, bastard. You've still gotta pay me back..._

"Mister Ant—Toni," Kiku clears his throat as he draws close to the bed. "Would you please sit up for me? Ah… If you can manage, that is."

The man cocks his head slightly. "You can just call me Toni; I mean, I don't really want to be confused with my evil twin—"

Kiku and Lovino share a brief look.

"—and I can try!"

Without skipping a beat, the man springs up into a sitting position. His action earns an 'oh my' from Kiku, a 'what the fuck is wrong with you' from Lovino, and a yelp followed by a 'dios mio, that hurt…' from himself.

"Are you alright, Toni?" Kiku asks cautiously, closing the distance between them yet seeming to increase the distance between them at the same time.

"Yeah. I'm fine!" Antonio responds in a manner that does not convince Lovino nor Kiku. He leans forward and peers into the man's face which in turn causes the man to pull back. "Who are you by the way?"

"An... acquaintance of Lovino's." Kiku responds, seeming to hesitate somewhat.

"Hm, well I actually kind of figured you were Lovino's friend..."

Lovino cringes at the final word and tries his best not to peek at Kiku's expression. _It's not the time to think about this shit…_

"But I meant your name. What is it?"

There is a pause. And taking this pause as a cue, Lovino steps in and scowls, "S-Stop being so nosy, bastard."

 _He doesn't want to risk having his real name exposed, bastard. He's already risking a shitton just by being here… Dammit. I feel like I owe him. I do owe him. Shit. This is all your fault, Toni. Shit, no. No, it's not. Toni got hurt because of—_

"Hm?" Antonio asks, confused."What do you mean? I just want to be friends with your friends."

 _Ugh, why the hell is he trying to be cute for.._.

 _No— what the fuck. It's not cute! It's annoying! No, what's annoying is him forgetting about that fucking kiss is annoying—_

 _Shit. This really isn't the time to be fucking thinking about this. Get your shit together, dammit!_

"It's alright." Kiku inclines his head as he gives Lovino a short, meaningful look. He then turns to Antonio and smiles politely while giving a respectful nod. "My name is Kiku Honda."

Lovino is so taken aback by the man's openness that he misses the expression of confusion and familiarity that flickers across Antonio's face. It is an expression that disappears as quick as it comes.

"A very nice name." The Spaniard grins, before he winces and places his hand on his chest again. His brows raise as he feels a thick linen beneath the cloth of his shirt. Without skipping a beat, he rolls up shirt and reveals the linen bandages that are wrapped around his chest and—

— and he also reveals the glistening sweat that gleams on his very chiseled abs.

"Que? How did this happen?"

 _What the fuck._

"Oh my… I…" Kiku stammers as he averts his gaze and takes a step backwards. "I…"

Lovino gawks and takes all of it — the curiously pleasant expression and the rock hard abs — in.

He had certainly been in a similar situation before. Yes, a very similar situation. On the first day he had encountered a situation much similar to this one indeed. But at the time he'd been too flustered and confused by the situation to even see… it. And at the time, he also had not kissed the man before and—

 _How the fuck is the bastard so damned—_

Before he finishes the thought, Lovino grabs the man's arm (once again, he tries his best to ignore the electrifying tingle that shoots through his fingertips) and forcefully pulls the man's shirt down with a scowl.

"Don't you have any fucking shame, you bastard?!"

Antonio just looks dazed and confused. "What do you mean, Lovi? Didn't you or Kiku do this for me? Unless you hired a doctor to…" His eyes widen, and he smiles apologetically at Kiku. "Lo siento, I didn't realize!"

"We didn't hire a doctor." Lovino grumbles, feeling a bit guilty about the fact, as he pulls away and releases the man. "Kiku did your bandages, but you were unconscious so it wasn't as fucking weird."

"Oh… " Antonio murmurs, looking more surprised than embarrassed. He grins; and Lovino can tell that the man is now both surprised and impressed. "Wait, are you the one who goes to the university with Feli and Ludwig?"

Lovino winces slightly at the question, but—

"Ah," Kiku says with an almost imperceptible hint of hesitance, "yes. Yes, I am."

"And you're studying to become a doctor?" Antonio concludes. "That's pretty cool! You must be really smart!" He pauses, turning to Lovino. "Wait, Lovi, I've been meaning to ask — do you go to the university?"

"Does it look like I go to the university? I'm busy, and I don't have time for that shit." Lovino snaps, feeling suddenly ashamed of the fact; and he scowls intensely. "Stop being so nosy, dammit. You should be worrying about other things." He jabs a finger in the direction of the man's chest. "Like how half of your ribcages are fucking cracked!"

 _We've been through this three times already, dammit!_

 _Shit… The fever better not be fucking up his head or anything._

Antonio's eyes widen, and his expression becomes perplexed and confused; pausing, he hesitantly begins to reach to poke at his bandages but a scalding glare from Lovino causes him to stop short. Instead, he smiles a bit sheepishly which causes a look close to exasperation and then defeat to flicker across the Italian's face.

"Ah, you must be confused." Kiku realizes with raised brows. "Well, it is quite common for people who receive cardiopulmonary respiration to end up with broken ribs or other bones."

Lovino nearly winces at the statement; and he once again feels shame — no, guilt — begin to bubble inside of his chest.

 _Shit. I wanted to save you, dammit. I didn't mean to—_

"You know CPR?" Antonio asks Kiku curiously.

"No," Kiku answers with the slightest shake of his head. He side-glances at Lovino with a contemplative expression, before he finishes, "it was actually Lovino who performed it."

Antonio turns to Lovino and stares at him for a long moment; and Lovino finds himself slowly simmering, burning, melting in such a gaze; and the shame reaches its boiling point in his stomach but—

"Wow!" The Spaniard exclaims. "That's amazing Lovi! Do you think you could teach me how to do CPR?"

— the shame dissipates in such a manner that Lovino briefly wonders if it were ever there in the first place.

 _Of course…_

Lovino studies the man — this time without a scowl — and a warm sensation that he has now become somewhat accustomed to bubbles into fruition in his chest.

 _Why the hell did I expect him to react any other way?_

"About the broken ribs," Kiku interjects slowly. "Although cracked ribs are not grievous or life-threatening by any means, there is a chance that you may have a punctured or a collapsed lung as a result."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Lovino snaps, whipping his head around to face the man; but remembering his relation to Kiku, he calms himself. "I thought you said that he was fine…"

"Ah, I apologize. I did not wish to worry you about something that may not actually be true." The man explains calmly, apologetically.

Lovino pulls back, crosses his arms, thrums his fingers nervously, and eyes Antonio who seems to have once again entered a dazed and distant state. "So… How do we know?"

Kiku drifts close to Antonio and raises his hands up hesitantly. The man turns to him curiously.

"Toni, I am going to ask you to breathe deeply for me; and I am going to… place my hand on your chest to check for any irregularities — if that is alright with you. Tell me if it hurts when you breathe."

Antonio blinks, before he nods. "Alright — you're the doctor, after all!"

The hand is placed gently; and the deep breath is taken.

Lovino's foot taps along the hardwood floor.

A pause.

Kiku withdrawals his hand; and Antonio shakes his head without so much as a wince.

"Hm… No. It didn't hurt."

Lovino lets out an imperceptible sigh.

Kiku smiles. "Then, I believe you should be fine for now."

He walks over to the corner of the room and digs into a black satchel that is placed there. Nodding contentedly, he pulls out a cylindrical capsule, walks over to Lovino, and places it gingerly in his hand.

Lovino palms the thing with a frown and turns it over in his hands. White, thumb-sized capsules click, clack around inside the orange thing. His eyes widen.

"To help lower An—Toni's fever." Kiku provides with a curt smile.

If circumstances — as in, if _he_ had been the one in need of medication — and the person had been different, Lovino supposed he would have assumed the donation was out of pity; and he would have snapped and thrown the pill bottle, but…

But the circumstances regard Antonio not himself and the person is Kiku; so Lovino finds himself staring with widened eyes and gaping lips.

"Kiku… You… "

"I'll go get a glass of water." The man simply responds with a small smile, before he exits the room.

Lovino watches the man go, before he grumbles, scowls, and ruffles his hair and turns towards the bed — towards Antonio.

 _Now for this cheeky…_

Antonio who is now slumped in the bed with a grimace.

The Italian nearly drops the capsule of pills when he makes a dash to the bed. Nearly. He tosses the thing onto the adjacent bed stand and falls on his knees and pressed up against the mattress. Hovering and hesitant hands; creased expression.

"Shit, a-are you okay, bastard?"

Antonio cracks open one eye — it's as bright of a green as ever — and he smiles. His face twitches, as does his closed eye; and for a moment Lovino is convinced that the man is going into spasms, but he soon realizes that such rigid and forced motions are the culmination of the man's attempt at a wink.

"Now that you're here I am, Lovi."

And the Italian twitches before reaching over and flicking the man in the forehead — punches and slaps won't do given the Spaniard's current condition — with a scowl. "What the fuck. Read the atmosphere, dammit. This isn't the time for shitty, cheesey lines."

Before anymore biting words can be said, however, Antonio suddenly grabs the Italian's offending hand and pressed it up against his forehead.

"Your hands are nice and cold, Lovi." He sighs contentedly.

"What the hell..." The Italian scowls with flushing cheeks. "I'm not some ice bag, bastard!" And he prepares to heatedly, embarrassedly jerk his hand away—

—but then he feels the scalding heat that seems to radiate out in waves from Antonio's forehead and from Antonio's palm which is stacked above his own; and he stops himself. Frowning, he relaxes his hand. Feels the bump of the scar just barely below the tip of his index finger. A minute later, he relaxes his head onto a space on the mattress several centimeters away from the Spaniard's pillow.

"You better be grateful," he mutters (more to himself than anyone else), studying the man's now placid expression, "that I'm such a great person."

The statement earns a light, albeit a bit forced laugh from Antonio; and the man mumbles, "When am I not grateful for the things you do, Roma?"

Lovino lifts his head at the statement just as Kiku reenters the room with a glass of water in hand.

After some coaxing and murmuring, the two assassins manage to convince the somewhat delirious Antonio to take the medication. After some more coaxing and murmuring, they manage to convince him to get some rest. They then exit the room with varying degrees of reluctance.

The door closes quietly behind the two men — so quietly that Lovino almost has to double check to make sure that the thing is actually closed shut. Almost.

Now that Antonio's condition has stabilized in the bedroom, Lovino finds his mind wandering to the man who stands behind him in the living room. Over the course of the day, the Italian had slowly fed the Japanese man information regarding his circumstances. Of course, _now_ Lovino cannot recall exactly _what_ he'd divulged.

 _Shit… Can I really trust him? Dammit… He's helped me out so much already, but..._

He turns on his heels and observes Kiku with scrutiny.

But Kiku's expression betrays nothing.

"I must say that it was quite ingenious of you to pick Tesori City as your new location." Kiku finally says. "It is not suspiciously far or close to your residence in Inizio." He places a hand contemplatively on his chin. "Ah, and if I recall, no major families are in the area. Just a handful of small gangs."

"Yeah?" Lovino raises a brow and puffs out his chest a bit. He pauses and paces over to the small window that is opened up on the side of the wall — it doesn't take him long to reach the window because the current living room is much smaller than his old one. Grimacing, he breathes in the damp sooty city air and observes the flashing lights of distant buildings — some rather ancient-looking and others fresh from the 'modern age' — and nearby cars that are being pelted with rain. "Well, that's why I chose this place."

 _That and because this is where Gramps always took us when shit hit the fan. 'Small gangs', huh? Before Fiero took over, this was the famiglia's stronghold._

He palms the pill bottle; and his thoughts shift to Kiku just as the latter begins to speak.

"Regarding your relationship with Antonio…"

Lovino's heart skips a beat; and he recoils and turns his head with a reddening face. "That… That wasn't what it looked like, alright? I-I… I just wanted to save him 'cause I was going to use him as ransom, and he came after me in the first place! And he's been forcing me to watch crappy telenovelas, and I was caught up in the moment —and his telenovelas! There's no way that I… I know he's the head of the Castiles, but look I— he… He's an idiot."

Lovino finishes his rant rather lamely with a grimace.

 _Shit… I say all that, but… dammit._

 _I really, really… care about him…?_

 _What the hell?_

 _Shit, Kiku must think I'm pathetic or something for having a make out session with an amnesiac don._

 _Shit, did he hear me say "I love you" to Toni? I think I said it in Italian but didn't Feli tell me that he was teaching Kiku some Italian? Plus he's with the Pool so he's gotta know a couple languages. Dammit. He probably heard me shouting like a complete idiot. Fuck that's embarrassing. It's all that bastard Toni's fault. You and your stupid telenovelas._

He pauses and resists shaking his head.

"Ah, I see." Kiku nods, even though he does not quite see. "I was just going to advise you to be careful. I know this will sound rude of me, and I apologize, but — it is wise for one to remember the place and order of things."

 _The head of the Castiles._

 _A Vargas hitman from the Oenetrus._

The statement makes Lovino suddenly feel even more vulnerable than he already feels, but he covers up any such vulnerability with his usual scowl.

"You don't think I know that?" He grumbles, crossing his arms defensively. "The way you say it sounds like you're implying that there's something going on between that bastard and me which is total bull. I'm just using him for ransom money."

 _Shit. Why did I say that? It was such a stupid fucking idea in the first place!_

He suddenly feels a strange urge to run his fingers across his lips; but he uses all his strength to refrain from doing so and instead focuses on half-heartedly cursing Antonio for causing Kiku to believe in such a blatant misunderstanding. But Kiku is well aware that such a misunderstanding does not exist. He is well aware, so he adds for a better measure—

"Of course, Lovino, I am just advising that you proceed with caution… Ah, also… I know it is not my place to say such things; but I find that, despite any relevant fears regarding the subject, honesty given earlier leads to much less of a spiral than honesty given later."

There is a pause.

And in that pause Lovino realizes what Kiku is referring to and what Kiku is already aware of; and a knot forms in his stomach. Kiku notices Lovino's expression darken, and he quickly moves to explain himself—

— "I am not affiliated with the Castiles at the moment, nor am I affiliated with any European family."

"Then why are you helping me?" Lovino snaps with narrowed eyes. "Why did you help Toni? That's been bugging me for a while now. What's in it for you?"

Kiku puts on a contemplative expression for a moment, before his usual smile — the one that reveals nothing — smooths its way onto his face. "I suppose, I am helping you because I consider you my friend."

'Friend'.

Lovino pauses at the foreign word. He pauses and thinks—

— _shit, there's no way in hell that someone would actually be so simple—_

But then he pauses and thinks of Antonio; and he finds his harsh expression lessening.

 _Kiku gets along with Feliciano so it wouldn't be surprising if that idiot rubbed off on him or something with his 'friendship is magic' bullshit…_

And he suddenly recalls the day he first realized that Kiku — at the time, Lovino had only known him as 'Kuro' — and Feliciano were acquainted. Feliciano had somehow managed to convince Lovino to take a trip up to the university. And being the social butterfly that he was, Feliciano had to, of course, introduce him to the friends he made during the university's pre-orientation summer program. Lovino at that point had already had a rather heated first encounter with Ludwig; and deep inside he was hoping that his encounter with Feliciano's other "really smart and cool" friend would end differently.

And then, he was introduced to Kuro — Kiku. While his brother rattled on about how he and Kiku had met and while Ludwig grumbled and sighed about some dinner reservations, Lovino and Kiku had stared at each other with a mixture of incredulity and surprise.

Later that day when they were waiting for their orders at a restaurant Ludwig had picked, Kiku had excused himself from the table. A second afterwards, Lovino left the table as well. Feliciano had shouted something along the lines of—

"F-Fratello, why are you bringing that with you?!"

— but Lovino was too caught up in the moment to acknowledge his brother's shouts. It was an action he regretted later when he cornered Kiku in the bathroom.

"Don't play dumb with me, asshole. You're that Kuro bastard, aren't you?" He'd hissed, brandishing the knife he'd grabbed from the dining table and pointing it dangerously at the man.

"Yes, I am." Kiku had answered calmly despite his expression being concerned and perturbed. He eyed the object in Lovino's hand for a moment, before he cleared his throat. "I… I am correct to assume that you are Romano?"

"No shit." He had scowled. At that point, he was becoming rather suspicious of the man's glances and allowed his gaze to drift to his weapon at hand. It was then that Lovino realized that much to his horror the item in his hand was—

—a fork.

 _ **A fucking fork?!**_

 _ **How the hell did I mistake a knife for a fucking fork? What the actual—**_

His face had flushed then; and he had tried to overshadow his embarrassment with a dark glare; after a second of this, he held the fork at a threatening angle. "Who the hell hired you out and what the fuck do you plan to do with my stupid brother?"

"I apologize, but you know as well as I do that it would be dishonorable and dangerous of me to tell you the name of who hired me." Kiku replied. His tone changed then, and his stance became something other than hesitant.

Lovino , in turn, mirrored the stance with narrowed eyes. Kept his hand from shaking. "You think I'm buying that shit? My idiot brother used the Vargas name when he applied to this shitty university. Everyone and their grandmother in the fucking underworld knows who the Vargas are!" He paused then, aiming the fork for himself. "I'm a fucking Vargas." He gestured out in the direction where he assumed his brother resided. "And my stupid brother is a fucking Vargas—"

"I-I assure you — I honestly thought it was a coincidence."

The Italian had paused then. Confused. Perturbed. Uncertain.

"Bullshit."

Kiku raised his hands. "I am not lying, Romano. I had no idea Feliciano was even connected to such affairs. Not — ah — not until you appeared and told me, that is..."

Lovino paused. Again. This time, however, his face was flushed a deep red color.

Kiku averted his eyes as if he did not wish to embarrass the assassin any further by gazing at him. This in turn made Lovino flush even more.

"W-Well, now you know, you bastard!" He snapped, raising his fork at an even more threatening angle. "And now I can't let y—"

"I don't mean to sound rude, but I am not interested in the fact that Feliciano is a Vargas." Kiku responded, inclining his head. "I actually have no interest in such affairs at all."

"No interest, huh?" Lovino muttered, repeated, eyes darkening; and his eyes themselves suddenly became more dangerous than the fork he held in his hand. "When it comes to shit like this, how the hell can you not be interested?"

"Like you, I am merely an assassin." Kiku responded calmly. "I am not one to be interested in personal relations."

The Italian cringed at the apparent accusation.

"... Also, if this fact will reassure you," he continued, "I find Feliciano to be a very warm person. I believe that I would not be able to find it in myself to compare him to any large sum of money."

Lovino, uncertain if he heard incorrectly or simply misunderstood the man's words, froze.

"I suppose I am not the best assassin."

The statement was followed by a smile that Lovino later realized was absolutely genuine.

The Vargas lowered his fork, narrowed his eyes, bit his lip.

F

Hesitation.

Confusion.

Distrust.

Kiku registered such an expression and bowed his head ever so slightly.

"I may be assuming incorrectly here," Kiku drew, "but it seems as if you wish to keep Feliciano – ah, I am unsure of how much of this Feliciano is aware but – I understand you wish to keep him out of these… affairs."

Lovino imagined that he had heard an underlying threat in the man's tone of voice. And his body tensed, and his hands began to shake unnoticeably from the strain. But then—

"I suppose it may be rude of me to say this, but if what I said holds true, you and I are the same."

It reminded Lovino of those flowers one of his grandfather's many girlfriends would show him when she – Lovino vaguely remembered her name-sounding something pretty-like, something Spanish — would take him to his grandfather's greenhouse.

Moon flowers.

The kinds that only bloomed when night fell. White and pure. Yes, that was what Kiku's bright and smiling expression reminded Lovino of.

But—

 _ **Don't trust.**_

 _ **Don't trust.**_

 _ **Don't trust.**_

 _ **Not again.**_

—such a mantra, at that time, had endlessly repeated itself in his head.

"My brother is an idiot. I don't give a shit what happens to him." He lied. "But I sure as hell fucking care if you cause trouble for me, dammit. And if you expect me to buy such bullshit —shit, you said you care about Feliciano? Cared so much that you decided not to tell him that he's rooming with a murderer?"

There was a pause. And in that pause Lovino came to regret his words, but—

"Honesty is best, yes." Kiku said suddenly; and Lovino wasn't sure whether the man was referring to his face as an assassin or something else entirely. "But I also believe that sometimes a merciful lie is better than brutal honesty."

Lovino scowled in disbelief.

"That aside, everything I have said so far is true, Mr. Romano… I know this is asking much but please believe me."

And although Lovino had vehemently told Kuro to "stop bullshitting already" and that he'd be "keeping an eye out on [him]" and even that he was only "letting [him] be because [he] didn't want to deal with Feliciano's friendship is magic bullshit"—

—a small, foolish part of him had wished for Kiku's words to be true.

"Sorry if that was forward of me." Kiku quickly apologizes with a somewhat embarrassed expression. "But I assure you, I have no ulterior motives at the moment, Lovino." He nods to the capsule that Lovino holds in his hands. "The medicine… keep it."

Lovino stares at the man and then at the pill bottle. He turns the thing over in his palm and comes to a realization.

"Where…" He says slowly with narrowed eyes. "Where did you get this anyways? It sure as hell doesn't look like you got this from a Giant Eagle pharmacy."

"It's a new painkiller that's being manufactured by a corporation in China." Kiku explains carefully. "The product hasn't… exactly hit the market yet."

"Illegal drugs, huh. Should've guessed." Lovino mutters to himself. "Which group is handing these out?"

Kiku hesitates for only a fraction of a second; but that slim pause contains all the answers Lovino needs. He recoils and nearly drops the capsule.

"You got this shit from the fucking Oenetrus?!"

— he shouts such a thing before he can stop himself; and he feels a strange prick of betrayal in his chest.

"Yes…" Kiku nods. "I helped to escort the family's transporter to an information broker. The medication was given as a — ah — 'bonus'... I apologize for not informing you earlier before offering you the pills. I am aware of how you feel about your fam — that family. "

"I don't care, dammit." Lovino snaps, lies, resisting the urge to chuck the capsule — pills and all — out of the open window. "Half of my jobs are from them anyways; and they don't pay as shittily as the other groups do." He pauses, subdues his scowl, places the capsule on the windowsill, and glances as the Japanese man with crossed arms. "I…"

 _Just get it out already. There are only four pills left._

"Do you…" Lovino swallows and thrums his fingers on his arms; he jerks his head towards the pill capsule and mumbles: "If you… don't need them… I'll do you a favor and take them off for you… I mean… do you have any more?"

"I'm sorry." Kiku shakes his head. "But that is all I received."

And Lovino's heart skips a beat; and panic begins to settle in his chest.

 _Shit, shit —_

— _no, calm down. You can probably find something at one of the pharmacies in the city— wait, no. Didn't that bastard Nico say that a Russian Bratva was taking over the underground of those things? Shit — did he say that? I stopped paying attention halfway through when he was talking about the famiglia's affairs… shit._

"I could see if I could order some fro—"

"No." Lovino snaps, surprising both himself and the other man; he uncrosses his arms and grabs the bottle of pills again. "No, you've already… you've already done enough." He crosses his arms again and adds in a strangely defensive tone — "Besides, there's no point in you wasting your money when I can probably get the shit for free…"

"Are…" Kiku frowns somewhat. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Lovino lies.

"Alright — only if you a sure, Lovino."

"I already said that I was."

Kiku nods at the seemingly firm response and begins to drift towards the exit door of the room. He pauses by it, however, and turns to Lovino to explain himself: "I still have some business in the area before going back to the university, so I am going to find a place nearby to stay. If you need anything, Lovino, please ask."

The door is pulled open; and just as a word of farewell is about to hit the air—

"K-Kiku — I… Thanks."

— Lovino mumbles such a thing under his breath.

The addressed man pauses at the whispered gratitude, before a smile — a smile unlike his usual one; a smile that reveals all — graces his face. "Of course, Lovino. Goodbye."

And he exits.

He exits, but he does not leave right away. No, for a short while, he lingers by the door with his smile still in place.

"Friends, huh?" Kiku sighs faintly to himself, and his tone is almost content; but then something seems to occur to him, and his expression smooths over. "Perhaps I am getting too attached…"

Peeling himself away from the door, the man saunters down to the end of the hall. As he walks, he seems to slowly shed facade after facade of personas until he reaches the end of the hall. Once there, his true demeanor reveals itself.

He pulls his phone out from his pocket, dials a number, and then presses the device to his ear. The drone of the ring is short. A clipped voice answers. And he responds—

— "Hello. Yes, it's me…. Yes… Ah, well, I'd just like to inform you that Antonio Fernandez Carriedo appears to no longer pose a problem… Yes, he has been… Incapacitated."

There is another pause.

"I am unsure about the rest of the families… Yes, I will keep an eye on Mr. Kirkland as well."

* * *

Day 25

Antonio's condition worsens. And the pills are all but consumed.

Leaning forward in the wooden chair he has dragged to Antonio's beside, Lovino buries his head in his hands. He breathes in deeply and then lets out a shaky breath.

Antonio seems to hear the sigh through the haze of his mind and turns his head towards Lovino's grimacing figure.

"Are you tired, Lovi?" He mumbles with a haphazard smile — and even though the smile is haphazard, Lovino still finds it blindingly bright. "I'm sure there's enough room on the bed…"

"No way in hell, bastard." Lovino scowls, removing his hands from his face and lifting his head. "Now shut up for once so you can actually sleep."

"Ay, but I've been sleeping this entire time." Antonio pouts somewhat, before he looks confused. "Wait… have I been sleeping?" He props himself up on his elbows and surveys the room with a cocked head. "Did the siesta parade stop by here earlier or was that a dream like the Puta king and my evil twin?"

Lovino scowls and shoves the man's head back down onto the pillow. "What the hell do you think, you idiota?"

Before he can say anymore, however, Antonio cups the Italian's pressing hand and smoothes it out against his own forehead. He then sighs and smiles contentedly, saying, "Ah, Lovi, that really does feel good."

"W-Why the hell do you have to make it sound fucking weird, dammit!?"

— even though Lovino shouts such a thing, he allows his hand to relax onto the man's forehead again. The heat radiating from it seems even more searing, burning, simmering than how it seemed the previous day. The stream of electricity is a constant.

"Hm? Weird?" Antonio mumbles in confusion. "I was trying to compliment… I was trying to say that Lovino is one of the best ice bag in the world. A lot of people must think you're so… _Cool_."

Scowling once more, Lovino reaches over and pinches the man's cheek with his free hand. "I already told you that I'm not some fucking ice bag."

"Ow, Lovi…" — Antonio trails off seeming to have fallen back into a state of half-sleep. And being in such a state, his grip on Lovino's hand slackens; but, even so, the Italian allows his hand to linger on the man's hot forehead.

Grimacing, the Italian rubs his eyes with his free hand and bites his lower lip. He isn't sure whether it is because Antonio's fever is beginning to affect him or because the distinction is being less and less relevant to him, but the fact that the Spaniard is a don is once again beginning to slowly fade from his mind.

 _I can't leave the stupid bastard like this. But—_

His heart begins to hammer, hammer, hammer in his chest; and for a moment, he thinks his heart is about to fly right out of it. Shaking, he suddenly recalls _those_ gazes, _those_ expressions — pity, contempt, disappointment, disgust?

And he feels small again, feels his blood run cold, feels his head swim.

"Shit-fuck."

"Shit fuck?" Antonio murmurs, apparently awake again. "That's a new one."

"Yeah?" Lovino raises a brow. "I'm feeling creative today." He pauses and then adds a bit irritably: "Shit-fuck. Just shit-fuck."

"Hm, Lovi," Antonio sighs somewhat, "didn't I tell you that swearing is bad for your health?"

"Yeah, so what? Didn't you say I was perfect?" Lovino responds with a slight scoff.

"Hm… I did, didn't I?" The Spaniard frowns contemplatively. After a short pause, he clarifies, "It's a different kind of perfect…"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Lovino snaps, feeling somewhat insulted.

"I don't know." Antonio laughs weakly in response. "What do you think, Lovi?"

"I think you need to shut up and rest." Lovino sighs absent-mindedly after a slight pause. "You're not going to get any better if you don't, dammit."

"I can't…" Antonio mumbles, blinking and then frowning. "Not when you're wearing _that_ kind of face, Roma…"

Hesitation, confusion, fear —

— these things have contorted Lovino's expression deeply. The Italian, realizing that he has allowed so much to seep outwards, quickly tries to reel all of it back in. Reels back his hand which still rests on the man's head as well. But Antonio suddenly grasps it tightly within his own and allows his palm to enclose around the back of the Italian's hand. It is an awkward hold to say the least; and for a moment the ideologies, instincts, and principles that have been engraved in Lovino's mind since childhood suddenly come surging out; and they scream at him to think about the precariousness of his situation and to realize the ridiculousness of his actions and—

—and one look into the man's bright eyes and such voices are immediately silenced.

"I'm going to give you my special charm." Antonio whispers so gravely, so seriously that Lovino once again thinks that he sees a hint of poisonous green in the man's eyes. "Are you ready?"

Caught of guard, Lovino can only stutter a stupid, "H-Huh?"

The hold tightens.

"This is the 'make-everything-feel-like-it-will-turn-out-just-fine' charm." Antonio repeats firmly as if his additional words have somehow clarified things. "Are you ready?"

"... What."

The man's gaze sharpens then; and he begins muttering something under his breath as he tightens and tightens his grip on the Italian's hand. His gaze continues to sharpen and sharpen; and his chants become louder and more discernable until finally Lovino can hear—-

"Fusosososo…."

Lovino blanches in confusion at the sound and tries to figure — to decipher — the true and hidden meaning behind the man's words, but—

"...sososos…"

— there seems to be no hidden meaning behind them at all.

 _What the hell._

Even so…

"There," Antonio murmurs, resting his head back on his pillow; and his eyes sparkle with some kind of pride. "My chant worked, didn't it? Everything will be a-okay, Roma."

"What the hell?" Lovino scowls. "Your chant literally did nothing..."

 _He's so weird…!_

Even so, the feeling that everything will be okay spreads from Antonio's hand into his own.

Lovino breathes in slowly, steadily.

…

The taxi ride to the mansion is torturous. Tortuous and long. Lovino spends the first couple of minutes browsing through the Internet — rather, his internet history:

Heart-beating fast, stutter, weird tingling symptoms

Heart-beating fast, stutter, weird tingling symptoms not ear infection

Heart-beating fast, stutter, weird tingling symptoms, not hormones, not love

La Casa y Aqua: Amor spoilers

Antonio Fernandez Carriedo

How to hide secret from visiting family member

Someone confessed to me but it was a guy?

I kissed a guy and I was okay with it

I kissed a guy and I liked it

I kissed a guy and I liked it, not song

I kissed a guy and I liked it, not song, not gay

Falling in love

Homosexuality

Bisexuality

Fever treatments

Cracked ribs from cpr

Kissed someone but he doesn't remember

Relationship and amnesia

Relationship and amnesia, not telenovela, not k drama

How to lower fever

 _What the fuck?! This shit is embarrassing!_

And Lovino nearly cracks his screen as he aggressively taps away to clear his internet history.

He grumbles, sighs, begins to feel that coldness creep up out from his chest once more. Stares at his palm. Clenches and then unclenches it. Realizes that he can still feel the ghost of Antonio's hand in his own.

" _Everything will be a-okay, Roma."_

Sicario Romano sighs.

The cold feeling disappears.

 _What the hell is wrong with me?_

…

The cab comes to a screeching halt in front of a stony pathway that touches the darkened main road. The smell of burning rubber is oddly familiar to Lovino; and he breathes it in as he steps out of the cab. He shuts the door to the vehicle slowly, slowly enough to hear the whispers of the driver's farewell:

"Good luck."

He turns with a raised eyebrow just as the cab speeds off into the night.

 _What the…_

But despite the strangeness of the occurrence, his attention is not held long by it. His attention is quickly drawn away by the building that looms behind him.

No, what strikes him first is the _sound_. The oh so familiar pitter-patter of the water fountain — for a brief moment, he thinks of Antonio strumming in front of the water fountain during that first week — tugs away his attention from the cab; and the echoing cacophony of the droplets matches the rapid beating of his heart.

He turns fully. Registers the stone fountain, the cobblestone circular, and the looming mansion. Begins to feel that coldness rise in his chest again — the coldness that has been keeping him away from such a place for years.

 _Okay. Calm down, dammit. You've just gotta sneak in, ask for the drugs, and get the hell out. You don't need to talk to any of them. Hell, they're probably going to beg for you to stay; but fuck them, dammit._

— such ridiculous and illogical thoughts begin to fill the Italian's mind as he tries to calm his nerves.

"M-M-M-Mister—"

The stutter causes Lovino to turn his head again — this time towards Nico Basilio who stands several feet away in the courtyard.

"Mister R-R-Ro-Rom-Romano!" —

— shouting such a thing, the Oenetrus's Family transporter rushes to Lovino's side and looks him up and down incredulously.

"Y-You're here!" Nico exclaims, wide-eyed; he freezes and gestures towards the mansion looming several walks away. "You're… _here_!"

"S-Shut up and keep your voice down, dammit." Lovino snaps. He pauses, crossing his arms and glancing nervously at the building. "Is… Is Fiero here?"

"No," Nico replies, shaking his head. "The last I heard, he was going out to meet some Russian head at the airport."

Lovino allows himself to let out a quiet, unnoticable breath of relief at the given information. Before Nico can register such a thing, however, the hitman quickly clears his throat and speaks—

— "The family's been investing in some new drug that hasn't hit the market yet, right? From some Chinese business or something."

Nico blinks and then nods. "Yes, yes. We just got a shipment yesterday."

"Well," Lovino grumbles irritably, "you're the transporter, aren't you? Get some—"

The Italian pauses as he recalls his shouts — rather, his prayers — to 'God' the previous day.

' _I'll be nicer to Nico and Romeo!'_

 _Wait… shit. I said that, and then — and then Antonio came back to life, right..? That doesn't mean the two are connected or anything, right?!_

 _Of course not. That's complete bullshit. I don't believe in that kind of stuff, but…_

 _But wait… if those things are connected and I go back on my word, then—_

"Mister Romano?"

"Could you _please_ ," Lovino hisses as every muscle in his face twitches at once, "get some of the medicine for me?"

"I… uhm." Nico shakes his head as he observes Lovino's twitching expression a bit fearfully. He glances at the mansion, before frowning apologetically. "I'm sorry, Mr. Romano, but I don't have access to that kind of thing."

"What the hell do you mean you don't have access to it?!" Lovino snaps despite himself. "You literally do everything for this shitty family, and they don't even trust you enough to let you access the goods, dammit?!"

For a moment, Nico struggles between thanking Lovino for the odd compliment and offering a solution. He eventually chooses the latter: "I-I'm sure _you'd_ be able to get access to the medication, Mister Romano!"

 _I realize that, dammit._

Even so, his feet seem to be glued to the ground.

"Mister Romeo manages the shipments out from the mansion," Nico continues. "I could take you to him, if you'd like."

Lovino tries to respond snappishly but his quivering nerves and churning stomach gobble up words as soon as they form. Nico observes him and prepares to speak but is cut off when the Italian suddenly lets out a short shout and slaps his already reddened cheeks.

"Alright, dammit." The Italian says firmly, turning to face the mansion with clenched fists. "Let's do this."

There is a pause.

"Do you want me to escort you through the backdoor?"

Lovino scowls. "Yes — but only because it's quicker that way."

…

Unlike the summer night, the inside of the mansion is bitingly cold. The sheer temperature difference causes Lovino's already tight stomach to tighten even more. Tightened stomach, swirling dizziness, heart palpitations, cold outwards, burning inwards —

— the sheer vastness of the interior does not help either.

"He's redecorated…" Lovino grumbles. He eyes the gothic paints and murals that hang along the walls and resists the urge to rub his shivering arms. Instead he glares at everything as he forcefully drags his feet along the red carpeting that is thrown over the black marble of the floor.

"Hm?" Nico questions distractedly. "Ah, yes. The second boss has." He then clears his throat and adjusts his tie, before he musters the courage to ask the question that has been on his mind: "Mister Romano — who is this medicine for exactly?"

'None of your damn business!' — is what Lovino wants to say, but he suddenly recalls his promise to Dio; and instead, he mutters, "Take a guess."

"Oh…" Nico pales somewhat as he takes Lovino around a corner. "I-I've heard that a couple members of the Pool are hunting for his head."

"You don't think I know that?" Lovino grumbles — _almost_ snaps. Every step he takes seems to cause his stomach to flip and flop and flip and flop—

"N-No, of course not." Nico responds immediately. "But I've also heard that the Castiles have hired someone from the Pool to search for him." There is a lengthy pause, before Nico clears his throat and musters up courage again: "What… er… What are you planning…with Fernandez Carriedo…?"

 _Nothing._

"I don't know, dammit." Lovino snaps irritably, nervously (at this point, the familiar yet unfamiliar scents of the mansion are beginning to make his head spin). "I just know that he's an idiot who thinks guns are fucking water guns and jumps into rivers when he doesn't know how to swim."

A plethora of expressions flash across the transporter's face. The most notable ones are utter confusion and a hint of concern. Before he can say anything more, however, Nico grinds to a halt in front of a large wooden door. He stops so suddenly and so abruptly that Lovino ends up running right into him. Needless to say, the hitman is not pleased.

"S-Sorry, Mister Romano," Nico stutters out an apology, before he gestures towards the door. "Mister Romeo is in here." He pauses, considering, before he adds in a more hesitant tone: "Let me check to make sure he is… alone."

Lovino taps his foot impatiently and suppresses the urge to ask the man why the hell he didn't check before hand. Nico suppresses the urge to flinch under Lovino's gaze and reaches for the door. His stomach — and Lovino's as well — drops as the door swings open before his fingertips even have the chance to brush against the brass doorknob.

Light-hearted chatter filters into the dark hall. A large group it seems. A large group whose members are dressed in crisp suits andreserved dresses.

Lovino barely has enough time to kick Nico in the shin, before the group collectively recognizes their presence in the hall. Swallowing a pained yelp, Nico greets the group — namely the smiling man who heads the thing — in a firm and respectful voice.

But Lovino does not hear the greeting. No, the loud buzzing that rings in his ears has all but drowned it out. The hammering frigid cold in his chest has mixed in with the sound; and now all Lovino can do is stare and feel the ghost of his gun his trembling hands.

And then there is silence.

Silence falls as the group of men and women finally take note of the the assassin's presence.

Confused expressions — not fully registering. Held back whispers maybe?

Lovino's heart leaps in his chest; and he forces and even and indifferent expression to smooth over his face. Crosses his arms. Breathes in quietly. Feels the warmth of Antonio's hand in his own.

 _Yeah, screw these assholes, dammit. Just get what you came here for._

With such thoughts swirling at the back of his mind, the Vargas takes a step forward and loads his words on his tongue, but—

"Oh. My. God. Lovivi?!"

— the man who heads the large group shouts such an irritating diminutive. The man appears to be barely a man — barely an adult, that is. His bright and youthful expression paired with the easy flounce in his gait betray his youth. The slight, signature gravity-defying curl that bends above his green eyes also seems to scream it; and the thing bounces up and down as the youthful man bounds over to Lovino's side. Lovino, in turn, nearly stumbles backwards at the sudden approach; but he manages to hold his ground.

Romeo Costa. 20. High-ranking member of the Oenetrus Family—

— how, Lovino only vaguely knows. He knows more certainly, however, that Romeo is almost as irritatingly sociable as Feliciano. He knows even more certainly than that that Romeo is one of the few members of the famiglia that he can remotely tolerate without whipping out his gun. Perhaps, Lovino supposes (he will never admit this), this is because at the time of that incident all those years ago Romeo had not been old enough to…

"I almost didn't recognize you!" Romeo exclaims; and at this point, it looks as if he is about to wrap Lovino in a warm embrace.

"Don't touch me." Lovino says coolly, practicedly almost; he crosses his shaking arms and says just as coolly:"I'm not here for a visi—"

"Mister Romano!"

Shadows and forms shift. Footsteps rumble.

And suddenly Lovino is flooded with shouts, murmurs, and befuddling questions as the group of men and women who have been standing idly filter around him. Their expressions match Romeo's expression — bright, happy, _pleasant_ of all things. Their gazes do not match the one ones that are seared into Lovino's memory. There is no pity, no contempt,no disappointment.

And the very fact sends the Italian's head spinning. The pieces do not fit the memory. Or perhaps the memory is the thing that does not fit…?

"It's so good to see you again!"

"It really is!"

Lovino's gaze shifts from face to face, from expression to expression. Uncomprehendingly. Unable to fully grasp what is oh-so-evidently unfolding before his eyes.

His indifferent expression at this point has become one of utter incredulity and confusion. Gaping mouth and widened eyes — at this point, his trembling has come to complete stop.

 _What the fuck…? Why are they—_

"Oh, hey, Lovivi," Romeo interjects as he pushes himself forward, "how is your girlfriend doing? Man, you're so lucky! She was so pretty! Say — does she have any pretty friends? You should introduce us!"

Lovino stares for a moment and finds that he is even more confused than before. Realization settles in when he notices Nico who is standing a ways off. The man's head is bowed in respect, but he continues to send hesitant looks towards the large group of suited men and women — namely, towards Lovino. The wince that envelopes his hesitant expression at the word "girlfriend" reveals all.

A short burst of irritation is followed by a lengthy bout of disbelief.

 _Ugh. Right. 'Isabel'. Shit. That idiot…_

"Y'know," another voice enunciates — and Lovino finds that this voice is light, rumbling, and familiar, "you've got to be careful with relationships, you know, Lovino?"

And Lovino turns towards the familiar voice and finds a familiar woman conducting it. The woman's honey brown eyes scream youth yet the wrinkles that curve around her face point to aged wisdom. And… And the shiny flesh in the shape of a flame that eats away half of her face screeches agony.

Something awful eats away at something within his chest. No, it consumes slowly outwards as if his heart is nothing but paper. Black charcoal burning through the edges; thick and heavy gray smoke clotting his veins and arteries and then his lungs—

" _What? So you're saying Gaius asked you to ask me to teach you how to use a gun so that you can impress girls? Why, that most definitely sounds like something that Gaius would say — why yes, I am teasing you. Now, if you want to learn how to use a gun to protect the famiglia — that, Lovino, I can teach you."_

 _Alvise Franco. The Oenetrus Famiglia's top personal assassin._

" _Lovino… what have you done?!"_

 _Correction: the Oenetrus Famiglia's_ _ **former**_ _top personal assassin.._

— unable to bare the feeling any longer, Lovino averts his eyes. Stares wide-eyed and frozen at the spaces in-between the woman and the person who stands to her left.

Of all encounters he has speculated and played out within his mind, this is the one he has least prepared for.

"Geeze, Lovino, turning your eyes away from a beautiful woman — that's very unlike you."

He starts. Feels a coldness begin to curl inside of the empty space in his paper heart that the flames have made.

He opens his mouth to speak. But no words come out. Instead, he moves his gaze back to the woman's face. And his eyes widen.

 _Why the hell is she—_

"My," Alvise Franco grins from ear-to-ear, "you've sure grown into a handsome young man, Lovino. It's no wonder that you've got yourself such a pretty girlfriend. Then again, you've always had a knack for flirting, isn't that right?"

And something about the buzzing atmosphere and the bright faces clicks something into place within his mind. He isn't quite sure what it is but it bubbles outwards from the cold emptiness in his chest, rises up into his throat, and—

"Flirting?" Lovino scoffs; and he pauses, gesturing to the women who stand around him. "I'm just being honest and complementing all of the beautiful women around me."

And as each word slips like butter from his lips, he finds alarm beginning to multiply in his chest.

 _What the fuck are you doing? Why are you going along with these bastards, dammit?!_

But part of him already realizes the answer. And he feels something bitter at the top of his tongue.

The burst of laughter that emanates from the surrounding crowd causes Lovino's face to burn intensely. The searing feeling contrasts with the cold shivers that permeate through his body.

"Oh, stop, Mister Vargas! "

Slender fingers alight on his shoulder; and he is shaken lightly.

Turning at the sudden touch, Lovino finds himself face-to-face with another woman who smiles at him with bright blue eyes and ruby red lips. But her pleasant expression does not match the one of hers that is seared in his mind. No, it does not match the narrow-eyed glare of contempt at all.

"Don't toy around when you already have a girlfriend!"

Her touch burns his skin.

 _Don't touch me!_

But instead of shouting such a thing, he forces one of the corners of his lips to twitch upwards ever so slightly; and he utters words that have no meaning behind them. "I'm not toying with you. Like I said, I'm just being honest."

 _Shut up, dammit._

There is echoing and rumbling laughter.

 _Shut the fuck up._

"Say, Mister Costa ," the blue-eyed woman with hands like a scalding iron says with a slight chuckle; and she nods in Romeo's direction, "do you still have that Gossip Monthly Magazine? You know the one with the relationship quiz? The one that's supposed to be released next week?"

Romeo, looking somehow no longer nonchalant and sociable, blinks uncertainly at the woman. "Yeah, I do…"

"Well," the woman grins, gesturing towards Lovino offhandedly, "you should give it to Mister Vargas here! He and his girlfriend could fill it out together! It'd be cute!"

Romeo's expression immediately re-brightens. "Oh my god! You're right!" And he reaches into his suit fold and whips out a slender object.

It glints in the light. Thin, laminated, neon pink.

Romeo closes the space that has grown in between him and the assassin; and he forces the thing into Lovino's hands.

The assassin gazes at the object with a scowl. Registers the shirtless man and winking woman posing on its cover. Finally snaps, realizes—

— _they're acting like nothing fucking happened—_

— and prepares to finally let loose a string of angry swears, when Nico suddenly steps forward and clears his throat:

"Er, Mister Romeo, actually…. He came here request something of you."

The light-hearted laughs and chatter dies away. Eyes sharpen, bodies tense.

Now, this atmosphere, Lovino is familiar with.

"Privately." Lovino snaps with an air of finality; and for some reason he feels a sense of accomplishment in the way his words seem to sting those within the hall.

Romeo stares at him for a moment, before he nods and gestures down the hall in the opposite direction. "Right this way, Lovivi!"

Lovino eyes him for a moment before he shoves his hands in his pockets and wordlessly saunters after the man. He passes Nico as he does so; and he passes just slowly enough to register the perturbed look on the man's face.

…

The family warehouse is smaller than Lovino remembers but he supposes that he has just grown taller — older — in reality. The long overhead lights, however,flicker and whine in such a familiar fashion that Lovino almost feels nostalgic. He recalls his grandfather vocalizing the need to replace the lights years ago.

Shrugging the memory off, he eyes the large wooden crates that are stacked haphazardly along the walls that are peeling with white paint. Lovino supposes that if he were to walk over and open one of them, he'd fine either,

One, guns.

Two, drugs.

Three, bodies.

And he's only interested in one of those things.

"So, Lovivi," Romeo sings, grinding to a halt and turning on his heels at the center of the warehouse — his rubber soles squeak rather noisily at the effort, "what is it that you need? I'll be happy to help!"

Lovino decides to not beat around the bush. "One, don't call me that, dammit. Two, I have… a guy who's really sick… and I don't want to deal with the Bratva—"

"Oh yeah, _that_ Bratva…" Romeo murmurs, shaking his head with a nervous laugh. "I really don't understand why the Second Boss has been so friendly with them lately—"

A raised eyebrow mixed in with a frown cuts Romeo off short.

"So you're talking about a guy who's sick and dealing with the Bratva," Romeo singsongs after clearing his throat; he pauses, pointing offhandedly to one of the large crates sitting in the corner of the room, "which means you probably want drugs — did I guess right?"

Lovino crosses his arms with a raised brow. "It wouldn't take Sherlock to figure that out."

There is a pause of silence; and the atmosphere seems to take on a heavier air.

"So what are you looking for, Lovivi?" Romeo asks, seeming genuinely curious. "Loopy drugs? Sky high drugs? Maybe the kind of drugs that make you think that your Peter Pan—" He pauses, registering Lovino's expression; and he laughs amicably. "None of those then?"

"I heard that there's a really…" Lovino grumbles, uncrossing his arms and shoving his hands into his pockets. "... a really good pain reliever that can suppress fevers and… and shit."

Romeo hums in contemplation before his expression brightens in realization. "Oh! You mean Heping — that new one that that Chinese company just finalized! Wow, I'm surprised you know about that!"

"Yeah, yeah," the assassin responds impatiently — no, nervously, "so do I have to make a deposit or what?"

"Of course not, Lovivi!" Romeo laughs at the idea. "You're part of the family — it's free!"

It is the response that Lovino has been hoping for, but still it unnerves him. Makes something — pleasant or unpleasant? — flounder around in his chest.

Romeo drifts towards one of the wooden crates and cracks it open. Reaching inside the crate, he pulls out a slender plastic bag and tosses the thing to the assassin.

Lovino catches the thing haphazardly and then peers at it. Inside the thing he finds many orange capsules filled with many monochrome pills.

"Uhm…" Romeo draws, suddenly sounding a bit nervous. "It'd be great if you keep this on the down low though. I can fudge numbers, but if there are rumors or something like that, and the Second Boss gets word…"

"Like hell I'd talk to that asshole again." Lovino grumbles more to himself than the worried young man.

"You really hate the Second Boss?" Romeo raises his brows. "I really thought that those were just rumors."

"They're not." The assassin grumbles. "And don't ask me why, dammit. It's none of your business."

"Alright, alright," Romeo waves him off easily; and for a moment Lovino is vaguely reminded of Antonio. "I won't pry! But you've gotta tell me some more about your girlfriend!"

Lovino flushes.

"Wow, you must really like her since you're acting all embarrassed!" Romeo exclaims in awe. "Wait, does she have any cute friends? You should totally introduce me!"

Instead of scowling, swearing, and blushing furiously at such remarks, Lovino frowns and crosses his arms. "Can't believe the bastard put you in charge of stocks."

Romeo pauses, considering and apparently not taking any offense. "Hm, I wonder that myself too. I don't really enjoy it. I liked my old job where I could just relax and flirt with some of the girls that'd visit, but," he shrugs, "things change, y'know?" He proposes the fact as a question that seems to twist the atmosphere uncomfortably.

"Whatever." Lovino grimaces, shoving the bag of pills into his pocket. He turns on his heels then and begins to saunter towards the warehouse exit. Pausing mid-step, however, he turns once again and gives Romeo a onceover. "... thanks… I guess."

Romeo's expression immediately brightens; and he waves off the assassin and leaves the departing man a shout, "See you again, yeah?"

…

Lovino takes a cab home.

He eyes the gifted magazine during the first five minutes of the ride and contemplates throwing the thing out of the window. After five minutes of this contemplation however, he grumbles and flips open the magazine to the page Romeo had pointed out to him prior.

Telling himself he is only doing it because he has nothing else to do, he begins to fill out the relationship chart on the page with a spare pen.

'Who contributes the most to household cleaning?'

Lovino thinks for a moment — pictures Antonio humming in Feliciano's pastel apron. Flushes slightly. Nearly punches himself. Refocuses his attention.

 _Well… that bastard does do a lot of the housework…_

He scribbles the letter 'T' down to the question and then moves to the next one.

'Who prepares dinner the most often?'

Begrudgingly, he writes down the letter 'T' again.

'Who usually says [good morning] or [good bye] first?'

Slowly, hesitantly,he writes down 'T' again.

And again.

And again.

And—

"Fuck this bullshit!" Lovino snaps loudly. "I contribute a lot of shit too! Where the fuck is the question 'Who contributes money the most'?! How about 'who pays the fucking bills'?!"

The cab driver side glances at the Italian nervously. Lovino, in turn, grumbles and sinks a bit deeper into his seat.

 _Ugh. What the hell is wrong with me?_ He scowls and then grimaces. _It's not like this is going to actually happen… but…_

Suddenly and abruptly — almost as if it is just a waning whiplash of the pre-occurring events — a flare of bitterness erupts inside of his chest. Echoing laughs and mirrored smiles burn into his mind. Pressed in — seared in — by a scalding iron brand.

 _Those fucking… bastards!_

He grits his teeth, grabs a fistfull of the glossy page in his free hand, and crumples it beneath his fingertips.

But he does not roll down the window and toss the offending thing out into the night.

Instead, he breathes in deeply.

Forty-five minutes later, he is home.

…

After thanking Kiku for his assistance in watching over Antonio in his absence (he'd requested the man's assistance in a rather irate state) and then bidding the man a farewell, Lovino — bag of medication grasped tightly in his hand — storms into the bedroom of the apartment. Needless to say, the Spaniard is delirious and adamantly refuses Lovino's urges for him to "take the fucking medicine — do you want to die or something, dammit?!"

However, after a long and tiring struggle, Lovino manages to coax the man into taking one of the pills. His next struggle is coaxing the man back to sleep—

"No… No, Ludwig is not a fucking tomato fairy, dammit! But, hey… y'know what? If you go to sleep, you might see the tomato fairy."

"Really…?"

"Yes, now fucking shut your eyes, dammit!"

— but eventually the man does fall into a seemingly deep sleep; and Lovino is left huffing, puffing, sighing. Too tired to even scowl.

Covered in cooling sweat, he kneels down beside the bed and faceplants into the mattress in a space that is only inches away from the Spaniard's dozing form.

Slowly, carefully, he turns his head towards Antonio and studies the man. Thinks about the events of the day. Narrows his eyes bitterly. And then he watches as the Spaniard's chest rises and falls and rises and falls. Rhythmically, easily—

Lovino squints.

He squints and then slowly, hesitantly matches his breathing with the rises and falls of the other's chest.

It's soothing.

He closes his eyes.

* * *

Day 26

"Bésame, bésame mucho,  
Que tengo miedo a perderte  
Perderte después…"

A soft, slow, and milky hum stirs Lovino into a half awakening. It's melancholy ring seems unfitting for the familiar voice.

 _Flip, flip._

Blinking once and then twice, Lovino squints at the soft and thin linen that obscures his vision. The linen that supports his head.

 _Must've fallen asleep,_ he realizes blearily. But at the moment he finds that he is too tired to lift his head up from the bed; and so, he begins allow his eyelids to slide over his eyes.

 _Flip, flip._

"Bésame — huh? Hm… Ay, what were the lyrics after that?"

The soft, light-hearted, energetic whisper causes Lovino's heart to skip a beat.

"Oh well… Bésame mucho, something something, nananahum….."

Lovino shoots up so fast from the bed that he nearly gives himself whiplash from effort. The first thing he registers when he reaches an upright position is Antonio's surprised expression — the man's half smile and the man's sparkling emerald eyes.

"Dios mio, Lovi, you gave me a heartattack!"

— the Spaniard exclaims such a thing in a voice that sounds more excited than surprised. He lowers the thing he holds in his hands and laughs a bit apologetically: "Sorry, did I wake you?"

Lovino stares at the man and stares and stares. And the more he stares, the more he finds _that_ electrifying sensation blossoming in his chest. This time, however, the sensation is accompanied by something else: a strange burst of warmth — no. Relief? … _Joy_? Whatever it is, it too is accompanied by something else.

Irritation.

"You bastard," Lovino growls, reaching over and pinching the man's cheek, "how the hell can you act like nothing happened, dammit?!"

"Ow, Lovi," Antonio pouts, apparently helpless to resist, "why am I being punished when I didn't do anything wrong?"

There is a pause, and then—

"Are you stupid? You almost fucking died!"

With his cheek still held captive in between the Italian's fingers, the Spaniard allows his pout to deepen into a puzzled frown; and just as Lovino begins to think that such an expression does not suit the man, the said man laughs brightly. The clear sound causes Lovino's cheeks to flush brightly despite the fact that his cheeks are not the ones held in the death pinch.

"Ay, that's kind of dramatic don't you think? I mean, I know I was kind of sick, but I'm fine now. I think!" Antonio says as his laughter settles down. He pauses, raising his hand and forming it into an 'o-kay' sign. Lovino, in turn, is torn between pinching the man harder, slapping the hand down, and… embracing the man because — as Antonio had said — he was perfectly okay.

" _What do you plan on doing with Carriedo Fernandez?"_

 _What the hell_ _ **am**_ _I actually doing?_

With such a thought spinning wildly in the back of his mind, he settles on neither option.

"Well no shit," Lovino responds hotly, irritably, indignantly; and he pulls back with crossed arms. "The reason why you're okay is because I went to my family to get the medicine to cure your sick ass, dammit."

Antonio's smiling expression falters; and his fingers curl around the edges of the thing he holds in his hands. "You went to your… family?"

Lovino pauses and nearly punches himself in the face.

 _Shit! Why the hell did I say that?_

 _Shit, I wasn't going to tell him, dammit. He can't know—_

He pauses again — this time wide-eyed and in mid-thought.

— _what the hell am I doing?_

But before he can even further develop his thoughts, however, a sound makes him pause. It is a sound that is both familiar and unfamiliar to him. A strange sound. A strange sound that causes something in Lovino's chest to… crumple.

For a moment, Lovino thinks of all the men who had made such a sound when he had aimed the barrel of his gun at their foreheads. Then he thinks of those sleepless nights with Feliciano after Gaius's death. And Lovino realizes at that moment that somehow he had gradually become accustomed to the sound — no, _indifferent_.

But—

— this time the sound is so so surreal, so unusual that Lovino cannot help but feel both confused and concerned…? So, he lifts his head. He lifts his head and registers Antonio's expression.

"W-Wha…" Lovino swallows, gapes, stutters incredulously.

Words are caught in his throat. Again. Like it always, it seems as if either his words come out wrong or they don't come out at all. Regardless of this fact, Lovino forces the words out anyways.

"W-Why the hell are you crying for?!"

Indeed, former don Antonio Fernandez Carriedo with tears streaming down his face sits on the bed shaking. He does not move to try the wetness and instead grips the bed sheets in one hand and crumples something in the other.

"W-What the fuck, dammit?!" Lovino stutters, inching forward hesitantly; he then scowls because he isn't sure how else to react. "You're fucking creeping me out!"

"Lo siento, Lovi, b-but," Antonio sobs — and the very sound of it makes something inside of Lovino's chest twist and crumple again. "B-because of me… you had to go to the family that uses you as their 'side hoe'..."

Lovino pauses in confusion, before a sudden realization comes over him. Leaning forward over the bed, he presses the back of his hand against Antonio's forehead. He sighs disgruntled as he feels the familiar heat still radiating from his forehead.

 _Ugh, he's still warm. No wonder…_

Antonio meanwhile suddenly feels self conscious of the touch and pulls away from the Italian with flushed cheeks and redenned eyes. Lovino notices the sudden motion and then feels his own cheeks begin to burn as well. Before he can let out an indignant slew of swears, however, Antonio lets out another sob and then a sniffle—

"I've just been a burden to you this entire time, Lovi. You've been taking care of me this entire time but I-I haven't made up for being a c-crappy roommate—"

Antonio pauses as he finally moves to wipe away some of the tears that are staining his face. Lovino watches him wide-eyed and unsure of how to react. Part of him wants to turn away — to ignore the tears like he always has — but another part of him wants to grab the man, shake him, and tell him that he's not 'a fucking burden, you dumbass.' And yet another part of him wants to—

"A-and I still haven't made that paella I promised you," Antonio whimpers. "Dios mio, I don't even remember what goes in a paella! Are tomatoes part of it? I don't know, Lovi. I just can remember! I… I can't help you at all. "

— burst out laughing because,

 _Holy shit. He's still completely out of it._

But for some reason Lovino finds himself doing neither of those things. Instead, he moves closer to the bed and hesitantly seats himself on the edge of the thing. Side glancing at Antonio who appears to be too busy wiping away tears to notice his sudden closeness, the Italian grumbles, "You're not a fucking burden, alright? I know I said that you're annoying to take care of — and don't get me wrong 'cause you're really annoying, bastard — but I don't think you're _that_ annoying and I don't… hate it."

 _No shit. I literally told you that I loved you, you bastard. Urgh, shit. I guess that means he really doesn't remember._

At the very thought of such a thing, Lovino feels a surge of indignation and bitterness. But then he feels Antonio's gaze pricking his skin and is vaguely reminded of Feliciano; and he realizes, _Now is really not the time to be fucking petty and self-absorbed, dumbass._

So, he pauses, reaching over and awkwardly patting Antonio on the shoulder. He then grimaces and cringes; and his face flushes deeply.

"So… er… There, there, dammit, you bastard."

 _Ugh, what the hell am I doing? This is so weird._

"B-But, Lovi... " Antonio sniffles, whimpers; and he leans forward, causing Lovino's hand to slip off of the man's shoulder and towards his the man's face. Even through the haze of tears, the man's face is bright and clear. "Are you sure?"

Lovino freezes. His amber gaze shifts from Antonio's shimmering and inquiring stare to his own hand which hovers only inches away from the man's cheek. The instinct to pinch the man screams at him. However, Lovino suddenly recalls the day in the rain. He recalls that day; and his fingers move towards the man's cheek and, instead of pinching, they swipe away shakily and hesitantly at the man's tears. And it is at that moment that Lovino realizes that touching the man has suddenly become somewhat… easier?

His face flushes again, and he pulls away. Antonio, wearing a somewhat confused and dazed expression (it is almost as if he is trying to wrap his head around the warm gesture's occurrence), blinks at Lovino seriously as if awaiting a verbal answer.

 _He's so out of it that he's probably not going to remember this either, dammit. Ugh…_

"I-I already said so, didn't I, you idiot?" Lovino grumbles.

Antonio stares at Lovino for what seems like a very long minute, before he lets out a shaky sigh. "Thank goodness." He pauses, wiping the remnants of tears away from his eyes; and then he cracks a bright smile that leaves Lovino's head spinning. The man then leans forward and peers at the Italian curiously and nonchalantly as if the whole sobbing fiasco never occurred. Lovino, in turn, feels a weird mixture of confusion, relief, _concern_.

 _What the hell is with the mood whiplash?_

"So, do you want to talk about it?" — his voice comes out with a slight shake.

"Talk… about what?" Lovino raises an eyebrow with crossed arms; and he observes Antonio carefully.

"Visiting your family, Lovi." Antonio responds matter-of-factually.

There is a pause.

"You literally just cried your eyes, and you want to talk about _me_?!" Lovino snaps. "Are you an idiot?!"

"Hm? I mean — it was just a little thing. And I feel much better now after what you said." Antonio explains despite looking somewhat confused himself. His expression falters for a moment; and he adds with a laugh that is not as bright as his usual ones: "For some reason though I feel like I wasn't really able to cry freely like this before…" He pauses, giving Lovino an inquiring look.

"I-I don't know, dammit." Lovino stutters; he also pauses and studies Antonio carefully _._ "It's not like we were besties or whatever."

 _A soft don who cries and laughs too easily wouldn't make very good intimidator, would he?_ Lovino pauses and then grimaces. _Well no shit…_

For a moment, the image of the smirking man with venomously green eyes flashes in Lovino's mind; and as an emotion that the Italian can not decipher begins building in his chest, he quickly says without thinking—

— "It's not like crying is a bad thing or anything, dammit."

His face flushes; and he quickly adds:

"I mean you have tear ducts for a fucking reason. You'd be a fucking weirdo if you didn't, bastard."

Lovino crosses his arms rather awkwardly and then subtlety glances at the man. At Antonio who is gazing at him with a sparkle of awe in his eyes and a faint smile on his lips.

Unsure of whether to scoff, smile, or frown, Lovino thinks offhandedly to himself, _He's always looking at me like that._

The awed expression morphs into the man's usual sunny one although it appears somewhat dimmed by his fever.

"Hm…" He sighs; and Lovino can literally see the sparkles emanating from his expression. "I need to get a notebook to write down all the cool things Lovino says down. Ah," he pauses, expression brightening, "and I could write down the cool things I say too; and then we could publish it. Wouldn't that be cool?"

 _So shamelessly, dammit._

Lovino grumbles in response, "Maybe you should write down common sense tips down instead. For yourself." He shakes his head and then uncrosses his arms. "Anyways, you should shut up and rest so you can actually get better."

Antonio pauses and slowly makes as if he is about to lay back down on his bed; but he pauses and pops up abruptly as if realizing something; and then he winces earning a start from Lovino." _Ow—_ that really hurt — oh! But what about your family? Are you sure you don't want to talk about that?"

"Holy shit! L-Lay down, dumbass!" Lovino scowls as he moves forward. Gingerly yet firmly he pushes Antonio back down into the bed. His fingers tingle as they come in contact with the man's shoulders, but hesitation does not come even once. "Take a siesta or whatever, dammit. Just rest!"

"But…"

"Do you really want to know that damned badly?" Lovino scowls, pulling away from the man.

"Si!"

Lovino struggles for a moment. A long moment. Logic screams loudly at him, but the memory and feeling of the kiss still lingers. The memory of the feeling of the lightness of his chest on that day of shouting out of the window comes as well. So he finally groans and lets out a sigh of defeat; and he tells himself the lie that he is doing this to make Antonio feel better not himself. He allows all the bitter emotions that he has been shoving down since the previous day to boil up to the surface.

"They were fucking nice to me!"

Antonio blinks up at him with a perturbed expression. "Uhm, I might be getting this wrong… But… isn't… that a good thing?"

"No!" Lovino snaps, running his hands through his hair and gritting his teeth. "It's like they were pretending what they did before didn't even ever happen! Like it didn't even matter! N-Not that I give a shit— no, I really do give a shit. Like lots of shits. What the fuck — fucking _bastards_. The way they acted made it feel like I was making a big deal out of nothing — like I was fucking petty for being angry or something!"

There is a pause.

"There is nothing petty about feeling a certain way, Lovi." Antonio frowns; he pauses, shifting to push himself up, before Lovino scowls and pushes him back down. "I mean, if that was a thing — dios mio — I guess I'd be the pettiest person in the world!"

There mere suggestion of Antonio being petty twists something in Lovino chest uncomfortably; but the bitter emotions that boil in his chest overpower it.

"I know, dammit! They're assholes!" The Italian scowls. "But the way they acted so damn excited to see me pissed me…. It pissed me the hell off, dammit... "

Antonio studies Lovino for a moment, before he blinks up at the ceiling. "They were… I think maybe they were probably really sorry for whatever they did. They wanted to make it up to you or something."

The mere suggestion of such a thing causes the already heated anger in his chest to reach an entirely new boiling point. He turns to Antonio and is prepared to yell, to glare but…

… but just one look at the man's contemplative expression; and all of it sizzles away.

 _Shit, I'm screwed._ Lovino realizes. _There's no way that I can run from this now._

Regardless of the fact that his indignation of the statement has dimmed, he gives his piece of mind anyways: "So you're saying that I should just waltz on over there and say 'I fucking forgive you even though you didn't even apologize' and 'I'm just going to continue to be your side hoe but for free this time cause you are all fucking amazing!'"

"No, no," Antonio shakes his head with effort, "that's not what I'm saying at all. What I'm saying is, Lovi, that feelings are like tomatoes."

"... Go to sleep, bastard."

Antonio looks somewhat hurt by the implication. "N-No, Lovi, I'm serious! They're gone so fast just like tomatoes; and then they're replaced by new tomatoes — new feelings, I mean. Things like anger, pity, sadness, and even happiness — they're there; and then they're gone. Just like that."

Lovino suppresses the sudden urge to reach out and grab a hold of Antonio's hand. It is a hard feat and is only accomplished by his unbending concentration directed towards the man's words. The meaning of it all is just within his grasps. It's a ridiculous, foolishly optimistic meaning for sure; but—

"I'm not saying that they're not important or anything because they're _really_ important, dammit!" — Lovino starts somewhat at the man's sudden swear; and for a moment he thinks, _shit, maybe I should stop swearing_ — "But they're also gone so fast which is why they're important… uhm."

"What the hell are you even talking about now?" Lovino sighs quietly — almost fondly — and raises a brow.

"Hm?" Antonio pauses, evidently ready to start another rant. He tilts his head as if pondering the question, before he laughs lightly. "I… I don't actually know… I knew what I was trying to say but I forgot what meant to say while I was saying it."

"Maybe that's a cue that you should actually try sleeping." The Italian grumbles. "Seriously… You're starting to stress me out, dammit."

"Oh no. I don't want to do that..."

"Then sleep, you idiota."

Antonio nods sullenly; and for a moment, Lovino thinks he has grasped triumph, but then the Spaniard shifts slowly, deliberately. A thin, flat, rectangular object is suddenly procured.

It is an object that the man has been holding gingerly in his hand since before Lovino had awakened; and the latter is finally able to register the identity of the object. He registers it; and then his face flushes.

"One more thing…" Antonio says — nonchalant as always. He holds up the second edition of Gossip Monthly, flips it open, and gestures to a random article. "This is really cool! I didn't know you were into this kind of stuff!"

Lovino flushes even deeper.

"I-I'm not!" He snaps, lunging for the thing and nearly falling across Antonio's chest length at the effort. Fortunately he catches himself short and straddles himself awkwardly across the man. Inches away. No, centimeters. No, not even that—

—Antonio winces causing Lovino to quickly reel backwards.

"Shit. Sorry. Are you okay?"

"I was better when you were closer to me." Antonio manages an innocent smile.

Lovino scowls. "Your face said fucking otherwise."

"Well, it did hurt a bit." The Spaniard admits.

Lovino winces at the statement and then grimaces. He prepares to respond sensibly, but then—

"Oh, by the way," Antonio drawls suddenly, his mind seeming to have wandered to yet another topic; and he pauses, turning pages and reaching a crinkled one within the magazine, "did you fill this relationship chart thing out? I can't really read it but—"

A half yowl, half screech escapes from Lovino's lips; and as it rings in the air, he lunges and rips the magazine out of the Spaniard's hands. Deftly, quickly, he tears out the offending page from the thing, crumples the article with one hand, and chucks the thing deep into one of the corners of the room. Huffing with an air of finality, he then turns and hands off the 27-paged-turned-26-paged magazine. Gingerly, hesitantly, and with mild amusement, Antonio accepts the thing. Or at least, he tries to.

Lovino's grip on the magazine remains firm despite his attempt to hand the thing off. Antonio's brows furrow; and he tilts his head.

"S-S-S—"

Although the words on his tongue will not form clearly, the thoughts buzzing in his mind are sharp and vivid: _Why the hell am I stuttering like I'm fucking timid or something?_

Antonio stares for a moment, before he nods seriously. "Oh right. I should probably sleep shouldn't I? Sleeping sounds amazing right now actually…" He then simultaneously releases his grip on the magazine and collapses back onto the bed.

Less than a second later, with the magazine article still grasped tightly in his hands, Lovino finds himself staring at a peacefully sleeping Antonio. Grumbling and scowling, the former tosses the magazine onto the nearby bedstand and then crosses his arms. Bites his lips. Furrows his brows.

 _What the hell am I doing?_

…

At the crack of midnight a motorcycle gang rolls into a small Italian villa called Inizio. The headlights of their iron hounds pierce the night and roll across buildings. The steady throttle and hum of their steel engines alert the sleeping town of their arrival.

The sounds and the lights seem to be unending—

— at least until the cluster of black leather and polished machinery comes to a halt in front of a rather ornate apartment building.

The thud, thud, thud of leather against wood resounds throughout the the night. It is followed by a crack — a splintering sound — and then by a shout:

"Prepared to get your ass handed to you by the glorious leader of the—"

Police sirens follow shortly after.

* * *

Day 27

Antonio's article of interest of the day is palm reading.

"You never know, Lovi, with these kinds of things." Antonio had ushered excitably as he pointed to a picture of a 'mystic-looking' woman who stood in front of a starry backdrop on one of the magazine's pages. "You might learn something that'll help you in the future! It's exciting!"

"Exciting?" Lovino had scoffed cross-armed in his chair. "More like a fucking scam."

"Yes, it might be a scam," Antonio had agreed with a contemplative nod, before he added with his signature laugh, "but you never know until you try."

"That doesn't make any sense."

But after watching the Spaniard struggle with reading his own palm and after the man eyed him and then the palm-reading article back and forth for several minutes, Lovino finally gave in. Although, in all honesty (although he'd never admit it), he mostly gave in because he was glad that the man had returned to his usual sunny demeanor for the most part.

And their current predicament is thus:

Lovino's palm tingles as Antonio's fingertips trace over its edges and grooves. The Spaniard's hold is odd; and in the end Lovino isn't sure whether he finds the man's grip gentle or firm.

"Okay, so," Antonio hums, gaze flickering from the pictures laid out in the article and then to Lovino's open palm, "apparently this line says that you're dealing with a crossroads in your life. A fork in the road. A big decision."

"Yeah," Lovino scoffs. "I'm deciding whether or not I should punch you for believing in this stupid thing."

"This line," Antonio pipes without skipping a beat; he runs his index finger along a crease in the surface, "says that Lovino will get one million dollars if he says something nice to Toni." He gasps in feigned amazement. "That's a lot of money, Lovi! I think you should try it!"

"Don't get cheeky with me, bastard." Lovino scowls. "And stop talking in third person."

"There goes Lovino's million dollars." Antonio sighs dejectedly, before he laughs abruptly at his own joke.

Lovino raises an eyebrow at the action and then scowls at the sound. How in the world he finds such a thing endearing, he isn't quite sure. But as Antonio's hands continue to trace over Lovino's hand, the latter realizes something odd. Something is strange — different — he notices; and his frown twitches into a blink of surprise. Flipping his hand over, he grabs one of _Antonio's_ tracing hand.

Antonio starts in surprise. "Lovi?"

The Italian turns the Spaniard's hand over, palm up, and spreads it out wide and runs his fingertips along its surface.

He peers at it, feels the bumps and grooves — feels where old calluses have faded and where new ones have grown — and falters.

The calluses — one at the center of the index finger and another at the base of the thumb — that Lovino remembers running his palm against during the last night of that first week have almost melded back into normal soft skin. The calluses that dot the tips of the man's fingers, on the other hand, are hard and nearing roughness. These calluses — Lovino knows — were not there during the first week.

The faded calluses —

— they match the ones lining Lovino's own hands. They are almost identical — save for the fact that the ones on Lovino's hands are hard, rough, ever present. And Lovino knows that if he held his usual gun in his hand, the points of the handle and the ridges of the cylinder would bite into his calluses.

 _He hasn't held a gun since that night,_ Lovino realizes.

He also realizes that the newer calluses are the result of Antonio's plays with the guitar.

" _Honesty is best…"_

"... Lovi, are you alright? That's a very serious expression you've got there."

Lovino looks up and sees that Antonio is trying to mimic his frowning and perturbed expression. Needless to say, it is very comical.

 _This doesn't make any fucking sense. How can that don bastard be the same as this (adorable? No, shut up) idiot sitting right here?_

"Dios mio," Antonio mumbles, blinking in surprise and awe, "is it that I have a really good fortune or something?" His expression sparkles with strange enthusiasm.

 _No, for now. For now this is fine, alright? Later, dammit. We'll handle that later._

"This line," Lovino responds finally as he points to a furrow in the man's hand, "says that you're stupid."

"That wasn't very nice." Antonio half sighs, half laughs.

"It's not me." Lovino replies with a smug shrug; he releases the man's hand and crosses his arms. "It's your hand."

Antonio laughs a short laugh and then sighs in defeat. A minute later he is perusing the magazine for a new article of interest. Lovino studies him as he does so; he studies the man's hand, the way he turns the already crinkled pages gingerly as to not crinkle them any further, the way he sticks out his tongue ever so slightly to match his expression of utter concentration, the way his eyes light up so noticeably when he finds an article that captivates him—

 _Ugh, what the hell? It's like I'm Esperanza from that shitty telenova but less crazy and more stylish. But… this really … ugh… this really isn't that bad…_

A sudden realization dawns on Lovino; and his heart skips a beat.

 _Wait — shit. Isn't this the perfect time to yell at the bastard for not remembering about the kiss? This is like a telenovela moment—_

Lovino blanches.

 _Did I really just think that?_

But Antonio looks too complacent; and Lovino suddenly feels too content. Any sudden changes would surely…

 _Later. We'll handle that shit later. I've already done a shitton of work anyways, dammit. For now, I guess this is okay._

As such thoughts filter through Lovino's mind, a sudden realization occurs to Antonio—

—- _huh, I haven't heard that weird voice in a while, have I?_

* * *

Day 28

Bella Jaansens is many things. For example, she finds that she is rather plain compared to the other major sub-power holders of the Castile Family. She knows that some believe her to have only gained her position through nepotism — not that the accusations make any sense whatsoever. Considerations aside, she also knows she is rather plain compared to her two brothers who also happen to be deeply rooted in the Castiles. But Jan is good with managing money and Lux seems capable and elegant and Bella is just Bella —

—ha, as if. What a ridiculous notion.

Bella is many things, and one of those things is a woman who handles her job skillfully and effectively. She is respected by those at her level and acknowledged by those above her. And regardless of these acknowledgements, she always tries her best. Her hardiness and consideration have often caused her to be called the "big sister" of the Castiles. It actually was a title given to her by the family head himself.

 _Antonio—_

Bella sighs and absentmindedly brushes a gold lock away from her face as she paces down the corridor. The closed windows that line the right filter light into the corridor while the closed doors that line the left filter muffled chatter.

 _I wonder if it was really necessary to book an entire floor of the hotel…_

She sighs again, checks her gold wrist watch, and quickens her pace to the other end of the hall.

 _I'm sure_ _ **she**_ _knows what she's doing though!_

She draws to a stop near the elevator that consumes the end of the hallway. Sighing — this time to encourage herself — she fluffs up her hair and straightens her suit. Glances up at the bolded numbers that are printed on the tiny white circles that line the top of the elevator. Watches as the circles light up and then fade to the next circle.

4, then 5, then 6.

She clears her throat.

And now 7.

The elevator dings softly and the doors slide open. A very elegant looking man dressed in a crisp suit stands in the unit. His expression betrays nothing.

 _He's alone_ , Bella realizes with surprises and mild alarm. _How bold..._

Shaking herself, she folds her hands and greets him with a mixture of curtness and warmness. "Hello. Mr. Kirkland?"

"Yes, that is me." The man grins a polite grin as he steps off of the elevator. "And you are?"

"Bella Jaansens." She nods at him and offers her hand.

He takes it and shakes it firmly. Strong and business-like, just like Antonio. But—

 _His hands are cold_ , Bella notices.

...

Matthew Williams is many things. What he recently finds himself being is his brother's personal secretary. Everyday he stops by Inizio's local police department to see if any new leads have been turned in regarding the Fernandez Carrriedo case. And of course, every single day Matthew ends up walking back to his one-hundred-and-fifth designated home empty-handed.

He finds that — just like his brother — he is more of an optimist than a pessimist so he always thinks to himself 'there might be some information tomorrow!'. Unlike his brother, however, he finds that he is more of a realist than a…

"Hello, Williams." —

— Shavil Gniwz, an apparently rather 'fresh-from-the-police-academy' officer, greets Matthew with his usual greeting just as the investigator enters the lobby of the local police station from the open door.

Inizio's local police station is rather large for a town of such a size. Large, plain, pragmatic. Single-roomed with a receptionist desk placed at the very forefront only a few feet away from the exit.

The floors of the room are checkerboarded black and white — but even the black squares fail to hide the rubber scuff marks that streak across the ground this way and that. Several scuff marks even stretch past the iron bars that line the back of the room. And behind such bars, shadows dance. Grumbling. Mumbling.

But the sounds don't seem to bother the 'fresh-from-the-academy' officer at all. And right after he pronounces his greeting to the investigator, he returns to his prior occupation: paperwork.

"Hi, Mr. Gniwz." Matthew greets in turn as he approaches Shavil at the receptionist's desk. His tone is polite — as always. "You don't happen to have anything for me today regarding that disappearance do you?"

"I'm afraid not." Shavil answers curtly. And he returns to his paperwork. "It's not surprising given the condition of this town's public systems."

"Oh… well, that's fine." Matthew responds lightly, almost sheepishly. "I'm sure there are a lot of things going on in Inizio. You officers must have your hands tied."

Shav pauses, glances backwards. "Well, you could say that…"

"Ha!" — a sudden shout rises above the grumbling, mumbling shadows at the back — "You mean you have your hands tied by _me_! Ha!"

Matthew pauses. Glances over Shavil's shoulder.

"Don't mind him…" Shavil mutters (his expression of perturbedness contrasts the statement). "He was brought in a couple days ago on charges of breaking and entering. The usual things you see in this town."

"I was making a dramatic entrance!" — comes the raspy retort. "Your lame buddies wouldn't have even caught me if I didn't nobly sacrificed myself for the rest of my squad!"

"Right, right, Mr. Bielshmidtt," a passing officer sighs as she shakes her head, "you and your squad of motorcycle gang members, right? It still looks like you haven't sobered up yet…"

"I wasn't even drunk to begin with!"

"The breath analyzer says otherwise."

"Your breath analyzer is weak! It's just not capable of realizing my super-human, beer-holding capabilities! Ha!"

The female officer does not look convinced."I'm sure, I'm sure."

But the ranting man continues his rant despite the snubby comment:

"Hey, instead of focusing on me — and yeah, I know, that's asking a lot" — and Matthew suddenly notices the sudden change in tone in the man's voice — "why don't you focus on the real issue! My friend!"

Matthew pauses. Something in his mind reaches.

"Yeah?" The female officer shouts back at the prisoner as she approaches the receptionist desk; she makes eye contact with Matthew, scoffs, and shakes her head as she thumbs behind her. "You mean your rich famous French businessman friend? The one you said that's going to bail you out?" She rolls her eyes.

The man behind the bars shouts something in response, but Matthew is too focused on the man's previous shouts to take any note of his current ones.

"Hey…" The investigator murmurs, squinting at the darkness that shrouds the bars at the back. "How… How much is the bail?"

The female officer looks at him incredulously, while Shavil frowns. The former laughs and shakes her head. "Matthew, I know that your investigation group is desperate for answers but," she thumbs behind her again, "that right there is just a drunk."

"I understand what you're trying to tell me…but still… " Matthew draws slowly. He slowly shifts his gaze from the shadows moving behind the jail cell bars to the officer's face; and the officer finds herself starting at the intense determination she finds in such a gaze. "How much is his bail?"

* * *

honradez [spanish]

honesty (noun) /something merciful; something cruel (?)

* * *

 **A/N:** /RISES FROM THE FUKIN GRAVE. LET ME TELL YOU MY FRIENDS. I WAS INDEED DEAD IN THOSE MONTHS I DID NOT UPDATE. AND I COME BACK FROM THE DEAD TO BRING YOU WHAT I HAVE LEARNED. LIFE IS SUFFERING. But everything is chill now b/c finals are over and summer has begun! /releases ten thousand balloons.

Anyways, sorry for the very late update OTL. Like I said... life is suffering. /stares into the distance.

Anyways again... I AM SO GLAD THIS CHAPTER IS OVER WITH. THIS CHAPTER WAS PAIN I MEAN LIKE 20K WORDS MAN. IT WOULD HAVE BEEN MORE BUT I CUT A SHITTON OUT. IF I DIDNT CUT THAT SHIT OUT THIS CHAPTER WOULDVE BEEN SO FUKIN LONG LIKE. /cries...

Hopefully... the updates will be... quicker.

Anyways x3, this chapter focused a helluva lot of Romano I realized but the next chapter will focus a bit more on Spain... and England... and Canada/America/Sealand/Prussia's story-line..

Thanks to all those who read, followed, and favorited!

TEARS OF JOY AND LOVE GO TO -

WillLeviJustFuckErenAlready: aerjaefjaodrjaeuoire THANK. /cries. Your username is lovely btw lmao

rukisea: ...? Who are you? Why are you reading my story? I'm sorry but you seem... kinda weird... Like I'm getting this vibe that you're super obsessed with SpUK and Spain especially..? Like I get this feeling that all you want is Spain to get a good mcfucking?

Saintluki: jk UGH YOUR REVIEWS BB STILLGIVE ME LIFE. I know we talked only a couple of days ago but i'm gonna respond anyways. Yes 19k words in the prev chapter but 20k+ in this one you. Writing that one Antonio/Toni scene honestly was really fun. /chants: Spain Spain Spain. Thank you for you condolences about my cup. Unforutnately, it's replacement is also broken now... At least now I can focus on writing your bday fic lmao

Shiroymammaru: I... live and breathe cliffhangers. Actually, I plan for Denmark to play a big part later! OH GOSH YOU LIke The repLIES thaNKK YOURE TOO KIND. YOUR REVIEWS ALSO GIVE ME LIFE. /cries. I hope...even after all of these months... you're still interested in the story... /lies down. Yup, there are going to be other ships in this fic! You might have to squint to see them tho...

penliee: Ah shit. Whoops. Reading that grammatical error actually made me laugh. I'll fix it later OTL. Thank for the lovely review!

Guest: THank. I too love Dark!SPain...And... you shall see my friend... you shal see...

phyllite: cries... THANK.

Stephanie0304: /weeps. Thank you friendd.

There'sALeekInTheBoat: First off... your username is brilliant. BINGE-READING FANFICS IS A GOOD EXCUSE TO NOT STUDY. I HOPE YOUR TESTS WENT OKAY THO. And oh gosh.. firend... you're making me blush. Spamano is also my OTP...I... And yes, making things more and more chaotic is fun really xD. And oh gosh friend you really are too kind. I'm smiling like an idiot rn... I live for slow burn romance tbh but im sort of... too impatient for it... /lies down. There's slow burn in the future tho... that i have plannned but /squints. spoilers... THANK YOU SO MUCH LEEK I LITERALLY CRIED READING THIS REVIEW

penliee (again, hi xD): yaaaas

Red-Hot Haberno: Your...user is also very clever. Everyone on here has such clever usernames wow xD. Oh ye, I'm not sure if this is going to be a Franada thing /squints. ANYWAYS Feli does not know about Ludwig and Kiku's ties... I think it was kind of explained in this chapter but I'll go into more detail later.. and yaas! /chants: Spaaamanoo. Thank for the lovely review!

venge1109: IM CRYING TEARS OF JOY. THANK FRIEND. (oh yeah that was writing my first kissing scene and ngl... i looked up videos and how-to's and shit... /lies down. I am trash. THANKS FRIEND. SORRY THIS CHAPTER IS KIND OF BLAND THO

Ariaprincess: /weeps. Thank friend. and /laughs. Yes... everytihing must fall apart

xHerzAsx: /CRIES HARDER. THANK. THANK SO MUCH.

Kei-Kat: OH MY GOD THANK YOU SO MUCh. YOUR REVIEW MAKES THIS WORLD A BIRGHTER PLAC E IM CRYING. OH GOD STOP YOUR COMPLIMENTS... THEY ARE TOO MUCH. I CANNOT HANDLE. OH GOSH NOW I MUST NOT... DISAPPOINT YYOU. THANK SO MUCH.

allistahl: and thus it has continued!

Errui: Yes... I am sorry...but the SPUK... it'll be lowkey tho... I promise. Thanks friend!

DragonClaw827: 'OTL' literally represents my entire life lmao D. YES I WILL RIP SPAMANO TO SHREDS SLOWLY CAREFULLY

\- FOR ALL OF YOUR WONDERFUL REVIEWS.

SEE YOU ALL SOON HOPEFULLY!


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